(2^ 


MItS.     WlI.l.IAM     HDCKMAN. 


BACKSHEESH 

A    WOMAN'S    WANDERINGS 


BY 


MRS.  WILLIAM   BECKMAN 


TRAVELS    IN    EUROPE,  ASIA  MINOR,  EGYPT,  SYRIA, 
AND    PALESTINE 


With  Forty-Six  Illustrations 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

THE   WHITAKER   AND    RAY   COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 

1900 


Coi'VKKiHT.   liKIII. 

HV 

TlIK    WHITAKEK    ANIi    RaY    C'OMPANV 


For  his  patience  during  my  absence, 
his  words  of  praise  and  kind  encour- 
agement, I  gratefully  dedicate  these 
sketches  to 

MY   HUSBAND 

and  to  a  memory  —  the  memory  of 
one  whose  wanderings  are  ended  — 

MY  SAINTED   MOTHER 


CONTENTS. 

PA  HE 

Austria 72-75 

Dedication v 

Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden 39-()0 

England 2-16 

England  Once  More 264-265 

Egypt 153-191 

Finland 60-63 

France 236-264 

Germany 69-71 

Greece 223-233 

Holland 34-38 

Homeward  Bound 265-266 

Introduction xi 

Ireland 17-27 

Italy 89-152 

Italy  Revisited 233-236 

Off  for  the  Old  World 1-2 

Palestine 191-210 

Retrospection  266-270 

Russia 63-69 

Scotland 28-33 

Switzerland 76-88 

Syria 211-218 

Turkey 218-223 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PA<iE 

Appian  Way  and  Claddian  Aqueduct,  Rome 130 

Arab  Village  on  Nile 167 

Arc  de  Triomphe,  Paris 252 

Ascending  Cheops 162 

Bandak  Canal  and  Vrangfos 45 

Beckman,  Mrs.  William   Frontispiece. 

Bedouin  Peasants 157 

Ben  Nevis 29 

Blarney  Castle 17 

Campanile,  Florence 101 

Castle  St.  Angelo,  Rome 113 

Coliseum,  Rome 121 

Columns  at  Denderah,  Egypt 179 

Crypt  in  Church  of  Capuchins,  Rome 119 

Forum,  Rome 115 

Gambling-Room  at  Monaco 239 

Garden  of  Gethsemane  and  Mount  of  Olives 205 

Historical  Windmill  at  Potsdam 71 

Ibrahem,  my  Dragoman 269 

Jonah's  Bay  at  Jaffa 192 

Jordan  River  and  Pilgrims 201 

JUNGKRAU    AND   ElGER   GlACIER 79 

Kexilworth  Castle 16 

Lakes  of  Killarney 23 

Little  Backsheesh 203 

Mars  Hill,  where  St.  Paul  Preached  to  the  Athenians 226 

Mount  Calvary,  Jerusalem 196 

Mount  Palatine,  Rome 125 

Naples 147 

Norwegian  Church 40 

Old  Wall  in  Jerusalem 209 

Overflowed  Nile  and  Pyramids 159 

Protestant  Cemetery  and  Pyramid  of  Caius  Cestius,  Rome 142 

RiALTO  Bridge,  Venice 92 

Road  Near  Tokka  River 47 

Ruins  of  Karnak,  Egypt 185 

Street  Scene  in  Pompeii 151 

The  Dead  Sea 199 

The  House  in  the  Woods 38 

ix 


X  Illustrations. 

PAGE 

Tdnnel  on   Dkvskak  Pass 51 

Typical  View  on  the  Nile 155 

Venetian  (iondola 97 

View  on  Seine 247 

ViKiNci  Ship 43 

Windsor  Castle 35 

Zi«i/A(i   Road  on  ROldal 55 


INTRODUCTION. 

To  THE  LOVER  OF  TRAVEL  I  tender  this  book.  The  title  "  Back- 
sheesh," meaning  a  gift,  is  the  one  word  no  one  who  has  trav- 
eled in  the  Orient  can  ever  forget.  It  calls  up  more  pictures  and 
recollections  than  could  any  other  word.  It  means  Egypt  and 
the  Pyramids,  and  that  strange  mystery  the  Nile,  upon  whose 
banks  repose  the  Sphinx.  It  means  the  Holy  Land,  the  veiled 
women  and  turbaned  men;  the  piteous  lepers  who  sit  in  the  dust 
by  the  wayside  crying  "Backsheesh,"  pleading  for  help  even  as  they 
did  "when  mankind's  Friend  found  every  man  his  foe."  It  means 
the  weary  pilgrims  toiling  to  the  Jordan,  and  the  wilderness  where 
the  King  of  kings  wandered,  fasting  and  faint,  yet  with  strength 
sublime;  as  it  speaks,  also,  from  the  desert  where  the  silence  rests 
—  a  silence  that  has  hovered  over  it  as  a  curse,  since  it  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Eternal,  broken  now  and  then  with  the  cry  for  human 
help  —  heard  with  the  low  pleadings  from  prostrate  figures  in- 
toning "Allah  Ackbar,"  —  "God  is  most  mighty."  It  means  the 
Orient  as  it  does  the  Occident,  for  everywhere  one  travels  it  is 
heard,  only  under  other  names,  a  disturbing  element,  but  one 
that  must  be  endured  with  patience,  for  the  poor  and  pitiful  find 
life  hard  enough  at  its  best. 

I  send  forth  this  book,  which  consists  of  my  ideas  and  descrip- 
tions of  the  countries  I  visited,  and  were  written  hastily  while 
traveling  from  place  to  place.  It  is  a  record  of  my  experiences 
and  impressions  of  places  while  fresh,  and  consequently  accurate, 
for  it  is  all  as  I  saw  it  in  the  following  countries,  enumerated  in 
the  order  through  which  I  journeyed:  England,  Ireland,  Scot- 
land, Holland,  Germany,  Denmark,  Norway,  Sweden,  Finland, 
Russia,  Austria,  Hungary,  Switzerland,  Italy,  Egypt,  Palestine, 
Syria,  Turkey,  Asia  Minor,  Greece,  and  France. 


BACKSHEESH; 

A     W^OMAN'8     ^\^ANDERINGS. 

OFF  FOR  THE    OLD    \V  ORLD. 

"  Not  in  a  closed  and  bounded  atmosphere 
Does  life  put  forth  its  noblest  and  its  best." 

A  PALMIST  read  my  hand  one  day,  and  said,  "Yon  will  live  to 
!)('  one  hundred  years  old.     Yon  will  not  die  from  drowning." 

Thinking  the  prophecy  over  as  I  loitered  up  Market  Street,  in 
San  Francisco,  in  the  early  spring  of  1899,  a  friend  accosted  me, 
and  asked  me  what  weighty  problem  was  racking  my  brain. 
Repeating  what  the  palmist  had  told  me,  I  said,  "  It  is  no  puzzle, 
but  a  positive  duty  had  been  forced  upon  me  to  get  ready  for  my 
centennial  birthday.  I  was  going  to  store  up  for  future  contin- 
gencies ;  to  prepare  for  the  time  when  I  could  do  nothing  but 
meditate.  Consequently,  I  am  going  to  travel  to  the  Old  World, 
—  the  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun,  Russia,  Egypt,  the  Holy  Land. 
I  would  see  old  Damascus,  and  look  upon  things  so  old,  that,  no 
matter  to  what  age  I  might  live,  my  years  would  count  for  noth- 
ing. I  shall  idle  among  ruins  which  were  ruins  before  those 
sand-di;nes  lying  out  by  the  Golden  Gate  were.  For  a  year  or 
more,  while  walking  is  still  a  pleasure  and  traveling  a  delight,  I 
shall  wander.  Will  you  go  with  me?  " — "It  has  been  the  dream 
of  my  life,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  will  go." 

Preparations  were  few;  a  former  trip  had  been  of  such  l)enefit 
to  me,  that  I  knew  the  folly  of  overmuch  luggage.  Passports, 
letters  of  credit,  our  rooms  engaged  on  the  St.  Paul,  and,  one 
balmy  night  in  April,  I  bade  good  by,  in  Sacramento,  to  a  host  of 
friends,  who  deluged  me  with  flowers,  tears,  and  kisses.  Boxes  of 
dainty  fruits  and  sweets,  branches  of  orange  trees  laden  with  fruit 
and  blossom,  tilled  the  drawing-room.  Then  we  sped  away  over 
the  level  Sacramento  Valley,  through  all  the  night.  Awakened 
Ity  tlie  sound  of  running  water,  hurriedly  dressing  I  went  out  on 

1 


2  A    Wiiman's  \\'a.\I)i:hin(;s. 

tilt'  platform  and  lnvatlu-d  the  swta*t  j)im'-sci'ntt'd  air.  watched 
the  limpid,  sparkling  waters,  enjoying  to  the  fullest  the  fresh, 
Italmy  morning  and  the  scenery  along  the  tortuous  road;  on 
until  tlear  old  Shasta's  peak,  white  as  the  foamy  clouds  hovering 
over  them,  was  left  in  the  distance.  Thence  on  over  the  pictu- 
res<iue  Siskiyou  Mountains  to  Portland  and  Tacoma.  Mount 
Rainier,  looming  uj)  grandly  like  a  huge  frosted  cake  thousands 
of  feet  in  tlie  rosy  light  of  the  evening's  sun,  saluted  us  as  we 
turned  eastward,  —  the  night  —  or  was  it  something  else?  — that 
dimmed  my  vision  as  tin-  l;ist  landmark  of  tlie  \\^'st('rn  coast 
faded  away. 

Some  days  later  we  found  ourselves  on  the  steamer  leaving 
New  York,  with  no  friends  or  relatives  to  say  good  l)y.  We 
watched  others  weep  and  sol)  at  parting  with  loved  ones,  and 
were  glad  the  ordeal  was  si)ared  us.  Our  trip  was  uneventful. 
We  two  were  good  sailors,  enjoying  each  day  to  the  fullest,  not 
thoroughly  understanding  our  ex-President  Benjamin  Harrison 
when  he  remarked  he  did  not  "  know  wliy  any  one  should  follow 
the  sea  for  a  vocation  or  go  for  a  vacation."  We  encountered 
no  gales,  icebergs  or  very  rough  weather,  but  wei-e  delighted  when 
the  I'ough  Cornwall  coast   irrei'ted  oui'  vision. 


Wf  l.vxded  at  Southampton  late  in  the  evening,  i)assing  the 
Needles  and  Isle  of  Wight  when  it  was  light  enough  to  have  a 
good  view.  .Many  of  oui'  passengers  left  for  Lond(ui  in  a  heavy 
rain.  We  refused,  and  stayed  until  morning.  We  felt  well  re- 
paid, after  the  gauntlet  of  the  custom-house  otlicials,  who  were 
as  severe  with  some  as  they  were  careless  with  others,  left  us 
free  t(^  start  for  London. 

We  were  soon  in  the  stuffy,  queer  little  cars  that  are  like 
Tennyson's  brook,  in  that  they  go  on  the  same  forever.  Com- 
fort, convenience,  time,  or  enterprise  touch  not.  change  not. 
Vou  are  put  in,  locked  in.  ami  left  to  your  fate.  We  sped  away 
from  the  queer  old  city,  witli  odd  rows  of  houses  looking  so  like 
Christmas  toys,  in    lengthy,  compact   rows,  veering,  turning    to 


CQ'd 

rcz 


England.  3 

suit  tlie  streets,  airirressivcly  })iishinf);  up  against  the  pavements, 
witli  no  lawns  in  front.  l)Ut  each  and  every  one  possessing  a  tiny 
baek  yard  walled  in.  where  the  owners  may  rest  in  security  from 
curious  eyes. 

On  we  sped,  over  the  ])eantiful  Devonsliire  hills,  the  trees  and 
grass  dripping  and  gleaming  with  the  last  showers  of  rain. 
In  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  early  s})ring,  it  was  glorious  to 
breathe  the  balmy  winds,  odorous  from  wayside  hedges,  witli 
orchards  one  mass  of  l)lossom  and  l)eauty;  to  see  the  well-kept 
fields,  sleek  fat  herds,  no  waste  or  neglect  visil)le,  l)Ut  evidence 
everywhere  of  a  careful  tilling  of  soil  and  caring  for  herds  and 
crops  unknown  in  our  country. 

There  were  running  l)rooks,  broad  uplands,  forests,  large  es- 
tates, and  small  farms  in  rapid  succession;  something  at  every 
turn  to  please  and  delight  the  eye,  making  us  glad  indeed  that 
we  had  chosen  to  wait  until  daylight  to  come  to  London,  where 
we  found  ourselves  after  a  two-hours'  run. 

Once  again  at  Waterloo  station,  with  my  heart  ))eating  a  little 
faster  as  the  well-remend)ered  towers  of  the  House  of  Parliament 
greeted  my  eyes.  Out  from  the  turmoil  of  cal)s,  muddle,  and  con- 
fusion, with  our  baggage  piled  in  and  on  a  cab  —  there  are  no 
checks,  transfer-wagons,  or  conveniences  here  for  travelers;  it  is 
stand  l)y  your  colors,  or  trunks,  have  your  pennies  ever  ready, 
and  some  one  will  do  the  rest. 

And  so  we  crossed  the  Thames,  and  right  into  London  town, 
we  two  among  the  countless  thousands,  yet  caring  as  little  for  all 
the  strangeness  around  and  as  unconcerned  as  if  on  our  own 
streets. 

We  had  planned  a  few  days'  rest;  but  how  could  one  be  quiet 
at  home?  There  is  so  much  of  interest,  that  one  cannot  rest  until 
fatigue  overpowers,  and  we  succumb.  Regent  Street,  Oxford,  the 
Strand,  Hyde  Park,  St.  James,  the  Mall,  Trafalgar  Square  — 
every  turn  something  historical. 

Again  in  Westminister  Al)ljey,  I  saw  the  innumerable  niches, 
busts,  statues,  slabs  in  walls  and  pavement,  showing  England's 
appreciation  of  her  illustrious  dead — so  many  that  the  brain 
wearies,  and  we  go  from  the  Poets'  Corner,  from  where  Dickens 
rests,  to  the  streets  and  ways  he  wrote  of,  which  seem  strangely 
familiar,  like  tilings  seen  in  dreams. 


4  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

And  so  \\v  iio  on,  in  tliis  great  city,  from  one  thing  to  another, 
—  on  the  Embankment;  to  the  ohl  Tower,  through  the  lialls  and 
corridors,  teeming  with  relies  and  dust  of  ages;  past  tlie  i)ietu- 
res(iue  heef-eaters  who  guard  the  entranees;  from  the  instruments 
of  torture,  the  block,  and  rusty  oM  ax.  to  the  square  where  so 
many  were  beheaded.  \N'e  saw  the  crown  jewels,  some  real, 
others  tawdry  imitations. 

Out  of  the  dust  and  the  gloom  of  tlie  i)ast  we  find  ourselves  on 
a  modern  boat,  drifting  down  the  Inisy  Thames,  wdth  real  joyous 
life  about  us,  and  the  fresh  air  in  our  lungs,  until  we  found  our- 
selves at  Greenwich,  out  in  the  }»aik  among  the  children  and 
the  tame  deer,  peaceful,  ha})})y,  anil  content.  The  very  atmos- 
phere gave  me  a  feeling  of  repose.  I  began  to  realize  the  freedom 
and  jov  oi  being  away  from  all  conventional  rules  and  society's 
wearving  rounds.  -  -  absolute  freedom  to  wander  at  will  whereso- 
ever it  ]>leased  me  —  change,  variety,  something  to  divert,  to  enter- 
tain, to  instruct.  The  planet  Saturn  was  in  evidence  at  my  l)irth. 
Of  such  influences  I  am  not  prepared  to  discuss.  I  only  know 
I  dislike  rings  and  circles,  just  as  I  do  the  monotony  of  long, 
straight  roads  or  streets.  Angles,  abiuitt  turns,  corners,  a  rug- 
ged, torn,  indented  W'all,  anything  that  relieves,  that  detracts 
from  sameness,  is  restful  and  soothing  to  me.  I  did  not  wish 
to  go  aidund  this  Old  World;  but  just  to  find  the  angles  and 
scam}ter  on  the  selvages  of  a  goodly  portion  of  the  globe  suits 
my  mood   now. 

The  irregularity  of  London  was  charming  to  me  from  the 
moment  we  entered  the  city.  One's  interest  never  flags  in  the 
swarms  of  peo])le  in  the  streets,  endless  lines  of  moving  vehicles 
and  horsfs  swinging  along  at  a  rajiid  ti'ot. 

'■  Keep  to  the  left  "  is  not  an  unwritten  law,  for  the  signboards 
at  the  intersection  of  streets  and  all  crowded  thoroughfares  say 
it  in  liold  letters.  In  America,  "  Hf  s\n"e  you're  right,  then  go 
ahead,"  is  one  of  infancy's  first  lessons.  It  is  the  reverse  here. 
It  struck  me  as  rather  peculiar  at  first.  l)Ut.  l)eing  left-handed 
myself,  it  came  very  easy,  so  1  invariably  walked  on  the  odd 
side  of  the  street,  and  never  looked  to  the  right,  if  I  chanced  to 
think  of  it  in  time.  I  enjoyed  the  irregularities  of  our  left- 
handed  i-ousins.  whether  walking  or  driving  through  the  curious 
streets,  which  showed  sueli  \niexi)ected  turns  and  al)ruj»t  ter- 
minations. 


Encu-and.  5 

There  are  no  squares.  Circuses  and  queer  courts  greet  one. 
Glimpses  of  old  churchyards,  with  a  few  yards  of  greensward, 
beneath  which  lie  those  who  grew  weary  of  it  all.  and  are  at  rest 
now,  while  the  active,  l)uoyant  life  thrills  al)ove  the  few  feet  of 
earth  covering  the  dead  faces. 

The  Strand,  Charing  Cross,  Oxford  Circus,  Waterloo  Place, 
Ludgate  Hill,  Piccadilly,  Cockspur  Street,  —  why  enumerate 
more?  They  are  familiar  to  every  one  as  are  Madam  Tus- 
saud's  wax-works  or  London  Bridge. 

Tram-cars  are  not  allowed  in  the  heart  of  London;  so  rapid 
transit  is  found  only  by  the  underground  railway,  Init  it  is  not 
pleasant,  —  dim,  smoke-begrimed  tunnels,  with  occasional  gleams 
of  light  between  stations,  which  are  usually  well  lit.  There  is 
almost  a  constant  whirr  of  passing  trains  flashing  by  like  huge 
fireflies.  The  air  is  hard  on  lungs,  but  one  must  endure  a  goodly 
portion  of  discomforts  in  traveling;  and  this  old  town  is  so  im- 
mense, that  one  must  take  advantage  of  the  swiftest  mode  of 
conveyance. 

Kensington  Palace,  where  Queen  Victoria  was  born,  was 
scarcely  as  interesting  to  me  as  were  the  "  eld  Druid  oaks  "  in 
the  park. 

In  all  the  parks  and  gardens  it  was  the  same,  for  it  was  June, 
and  the  trees  and  flowers  were  at  their  best.  Frequent  showers 
of  rain  kept  them  fresh  and  free  from  dust.  Fragrant  and 
sweet  were  the  buds  and  blossoms  in  Richmond  Park,  and  the 
view  from  Richmond  Hill,  where  "  lived  a  lass,"  is  seemingly 
unsurpassed  by  any  in  England.  The  scene  is  simply  enchant- 
ing, looking  down  on  the  lofty  elms  and  grand  old  forest  trees 
growing  in  groups,  detached,  or  crowding  each  other  in  minia- 
ture forests.  Deep  patches  of  shade,  and  glint  of  sunshine  lie  on 
tree,  river,  and  slopes.  I  gaze  through  the  blue  mists  enshroud- 
ing Twickenham.  There  stood  the  house  of  Pope.  Strawberry 
Hill,  the  residence  of  Horace  Walpole,  is  among  the  historic 
places.  There  are  beautiful  vistas,  and  in  whatever  direction 
the  eyes  turn  there  is  no  spot  but  has  been  written  of,  painted,, 
or  made  interesting  by  the  lives  of  great  men. 

The  morning  hours  pass  all  too  quickly.  We  cross  the 
Thames,  and  in  a  short  time  we  pass  through  the  gates  and  are 
under  the  magnificent  chestnut  trees,  now  one  mass  of  liloom. 


6  A   Woman's  \\'AM»FHiNfis. 

l«)it«Tiiij;  al<»ii^  tin-  fra.L'rant  |iatli>  until  we  stoji  in  front  of 
Windsor's  rival.  Hamilton  Court.  I  shall  not  attempt  a 
tU'scrijition;  it  is  worth  it.  Its  walls  of  red  l)rick  with  stone 
ornaments,  its  old  towers,  hattlenu'iits.  and  piteways,  —  the  Anne 
Boleyn  esjiecially,  —  each  and  all  seem  to  speak  of  the  five  cen- 
turies of  existence;  of  Wolsey,  Henry  VIII,  Mary  and  Eliza- 
beth. Cluirles  I.  Cromwell.  Catherine,  and  Anne  of  Denmark. 
There  is  so  much  at  every  an.irle  of  this  historic  building,  in 
every  room,  that  one  gets  bewildered  and  confused.  These  great 
men  and  wtniien  of  the  ])ast.  whose  painted  forms  and  faces  line 
the  galleries,  live  in  history,  and  sjieak  of  a  jiast  that  is  full  of 
interest.  Tliere  is  dignity  and  grace  al)OUt  the  dear  old  place  — 
battlements,  tower,  and  roof  crumbling  with  age.  Greenish-gray 
mosses  covering  them  tells  of  age  and  the  destroyer  Time.  I  go 
tlirough  rooms,  halls,  and  galleries  so  ripe  with  memories  of  the 
illustrious  dead,  until,  wearied,  turn  from  them  all.  and  wander 
thi-ough  the  grounds,  far  more  alluring  to  me  than  the  building, 
save  from  its  associations  with  the  past.  The  beautiful  old  trees 
planted  in  long,  convergent  avenues;  great,  breezy  stretches  of 
grass,  where  children  and  tame  deer  enjoy  life,  and  frolic  amid 
the  daisies.  The  song  of  birds  came  from  leafy  retreats;  the 
hum  of  bees  among  the  chestnut  blooms  and  fair,  sweet  l)lossoms 
that  grew  everywhere,  was  soothing  and  softening. 

I  had  not  the  courage  to  dispute  with  the  custodian  of  the 
famous  grape-vine.  He  knew  something  about  our  beautiful 
vine  at  Santa  Barbara.  He  claimed  his  vine  the  larger  of  the 
two,  the  average  yield  of  fruit  greater  also;  but  truth  compelled 
me  to  say  he  was  mistaken,  and  if  he  were  not.  that  theirs  was 
oidy  a  hothouse  jilant.  grown  imder  glass,  while  ours  grew  in 
the  open,  warm,  Hower-scented  air.  Bud,  blossom,  and  purple 
fruit  grew  in  luscious  sweetness  under  the  sun  and  twinkling 
stars,  with  no  covering  but  the  sky's  blue  dome,  while  theirs  is 
never  expensed  to  the  ojten  air. 

The  sun  was  sinking  as  we  reluctantly  left  the  jilace.  a 
drowsy  hum  was  in  the  air.  the  liirds  twittered  softly  from 
hidden  retreats,  the  droning  sounds  of  insects  tilled  the  ears 
and  the  heart  to  overHowing,  as  tlie  faint  cadence  came  from 
the  bells  as  '"the  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea."  The 
fragrant   winds   waft     tin-    sounds  sweetlv.    tenderlv.   to  me   as   I 


ENCil.AM).  7 

pause  ou  tlif  bonier  of  a  liuk't  lake  and  watcli  the  swans  move 
silently  among  the  water-lilies,  see  the  gold-tisli  flashing  beneath 
the  surface,  now  and  then  causing  a  momentary  ripple,  as  did 
those  wlio  once  tilled  the  cloisters  and  halls,  who  walked  these 
beautiful  i)aths  ere  death's  silence  claimed  them.  We  leave 
the  elm-shaded  meads  that  border  tlic  Thames,  glimpses  of 
vine-wreathed  tower  and  cottage  flash  and  fade;  but  in  memory's 
storehouse  there  are  scenes  that  will  not  pass  with  the  day,  so 
filled  with  dreamy  content. 

After  some  days  spent  in  London,  the  galleries,  and  museums, 
driving  through  Hyde  Park.  St.  James,  and  Pall  Mall,  I  was 
glad  when  Derby  Day  arrived.  It  was  all  that  could  be  desired, 
—  a  beautiful,  ty})ical  California  spring  day.  The  capricious 
climate  could  <lo  no  more  for  the  "outing,"  wdiich  is  the  year's 
great  event.  Snowstorms  and  all  sorts  of  bad  weather  have 
spoiled  the  day  of  days  in  years  gone  by,  but  this  was  perfect. 

The  Derby  is  not  compulsory,  as  formerly,  —  that  is,  society, 
save  for  the  "smart  racing  set,"  goes  not  down  to  the  yearly 
Epsom  festival,  —  yet  the  smile  or  frown  of  the  small  fraction 
known  here  as  '"society"  seems  to  have  no  effect  upon  the 
attendance. 

Prices  on  the  coaches  are  rather  high.  l)eing  al)out  fifteen 
dollars  for  a  seat  and  luncheon.  l>ut  we  had  to  see  the  Derby, 
and  Tod  Sloan  win  or  lose.  So  in  the  forenoon  we  started, 
amid  the  din  of  horns,  out  and  away,  whither  thousands  were 
going.  It  seemed  as  if  we  would  never  reach  the  country,  there 
were  such  interminable  miles  of  streets,  thronged  by  myriads 
of  human  beings.  Could  it  be  possible,  so  many  people  w^ere 
going,  that  so  many  would  be  left  ?  Finally,  we  struck  the  more 
open  ways  —  detaclied  houses,  green  lanes  lined  with  chestnuts 
in  full  bloom,  as  were  the  hawthorn  hedges;  past  residences 
inclosed  wathin  high  walls  —  the  English  are  so  for.d  of  hiding 
within  their  own  sacred  precincts. 

Suddenly  we  realized  we  were  upon  the  Downs,  and  in  every 
direction  every  road,  path,  and  field  was  one  mass  of  people. 
There  were  vehicles  of  every  description  in  one  continuous 
stream,  and  the  wonder  of  it!  no  confusion,  no  yells,  no  whip 
ping  of  beasts,  yet  every  horse  apparently  doing  his  best,  and 
having  the  strength  to  keep  it  u\):  and  they  do  it  mile  after 
mile  without  urging. 


8  A   Woman's   \\'ani)i:i{in(;s. 

I  coulil  tintl  it  in  my  licart  to  forjiivi'  all  tlicir  shortroniin^.s 
for  the  univt-rsal  kimliiess  shown  to  horses  in  all  the  multitu- 
dinous life  here,  where  horses  are  in  great  demand,  for  in  tJie 
center  of  London  no  trolley-cars  are  known,  l)ut  miles  of 
omnibuses,  double-decked,  are  pulled  by  two  horses,  always  at 
a  swift  trot,  always  fat.  sleek,  and  strong,  ready  to  do  double 
the  work  our  horses  would  ever  lie  able  to  do.  The  secret  seems 
to  be  the  care  taken,  l^vcrvwhere.  as  we  went  along,  vehicles 
were  drawn  up  by  the  roadside,  and  in  every  instance  the  horses 
were  eating.  It  was  so  after  we  had  arrived  at  the  races  — 
the  horses  were  fed  all  day   long. 

People  do  not  go  to  races  or  picnics  and  feast,  here,  and  let 
their  horses  starve.  Every  few  miles  the  horses  were  given  water 
well  thickened  with  oatmeal.  Going  and  coming,  at  half-way 
stations,  the  beasts  were  fed  and  rubl)ed  down,  and  thus  were 
ready  and  strong  for  the  whole  day. 

I  have  seen  crowds  in  many  lands  and  places,  but  never  any- 
thing apjiroaching  this.  Fancy  nearly  one  million  people  going 
to  one  iiarticular  spot,  every  road  one  continuous  stream,  every 
vehicle  crowdeil  to  the  limit  — trains  the  same,  many  trudging 
footsore,  but  happy,  under  the  glorious  sun  that  rained  freckles 
and  sunburn  on  acres  of  faces,  all  uncaring  for  sun  or  distance, 
only  knowing  that  they  would  be  in  time  for  the  races. 

At  length  we  arrived,  and  our  coach  was  allowed  within  the 
one-guinea  limit.  We  found  ourselves  well  phiced — near  the 
track,  the  grand  stand,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  jtarty.  It 
seemed  as  if  Tod  Sloan  and  his  odd  way  of  riding  (leaning  low 
down  on  the  horse's  neck)  were  quite  as  much  discussed  as  the 
horses.  We.  of  course,  wanteil  him  to  win.  and  he  did  in  a 
race  or  two,  but  not  in  the  Derby.  The  start  was  tine,  and  the 
beauty  of  it,  as  they  came  down  the  green  turf  -so  odd  to  our 
unaccustomed  eyes,  that  had  never  seen  horses  run  on  anything 
but  a  smooth  track.  I  think  the  great  throng  did  not  breathe 
for  a  few  seconds  as  they  flew  by.  a  flash  of  color,  glorious  in 
strength  and  activity,  a  vision  of  horseflesh,  a  live,  intense 
straining,  an  eagerness  for  victory,  men  and  bi-asts  alike  striving 
for  mastery.  On  they  dashed,  seemingly  to  skim  the  earth,  the 
graceful,  beautiful  horses  so  magnificent  in  motion,  distended 
nostrils,  every   muscle   strained    to   the   utmost,  and    then,  as   we 


En(;i.and.  9 

saw  Holocaust  fall  with  a  Itroken  leg,  and  it  was  all  over  for 
him,  while  the  crowd  cheered  the  Duke  of  Westminster's  horse. 
Thus  fate  willed  the  i)enultiniate  Derhy  of  tlic  century,  one  to  he 
rememhered  with  regret. 

The  Derhy  was  over,  and  we  turned,  with  regret  from  the  poor 
horse,  to  see  the  life  around  us.  Most  picturesque  were  the 
mimherless  caravans  of  gypsies  who  had  come  from  all  parts  of 
the  kingdom  for  the  day.  They  are  up  to  all  sorts  of  devices  to 
gain  a  few  coppers  —  honestly  or  not  makes  ])ut  little  difference 
to  them.  The  men  were  looking  after  the  horses  for  a  few  pen- 
nies the  coachmen  gladly  give;  children  were  hegging;  women, 
old  and  young,  telling  fortunes. 

The  "  go-as-you-please "  attitude  of  the  multitude  was  an 
instructive  study,  and  I  fain  would  have  wandered  longer  among 
the  booths  and  sideshows,  where  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction. 

In  all  my  knowledge  of  books  I  have  never  read  or  understood 
anything  like  a  faithful  picture  of  the  English  people  out  for  a 
holiday.  The  foolishness,  the  imbecility  of  the  great  crowd, 
where  the  innocent  and  unsuspecting  rul»  shoulders  with  the 
tramp,  the  thief,  and  the  vagal)ond.  Verily,  it  increases  one's 
might  of  wonder  at  the  means  whereliy  the  "  other  half  "  of  the 
world  lives — if  j'ou  pause  to  think  while  you  wander  on  the 
fringe  of  the  Downs  on  Derb}'  Day. 

Slowly  enough  came  the  last  race.  It  was  over,  and  the  tide 
turned  homeward.  '  I  marvel  even  now  how  it  was  possible  to 
escape  from  it  all  without  accident.  There  was  no  confusion;  a 
good-natured  struggle,  but  orderly;  horses  good  and  honest  as 
the  drivers;  no  nervous  excitement;  no  clash  of  tongues  or 
whips;  but  out  of  the  mob  and  home  in  the  cool,  evening  breezes, 
past  endless  throngs  lining  the  wayside,  watching  the  home- 
coming; past  thousands  of  children  running  after  the  coaches, 
crying,  "  Throw  out  your  moldy  coppers."  It  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  world  of  children  had  turned  beggars.  And  so  Dives 
scattered  the  crumljs  by  the  wayside  for  good  or  ill,  —  who  knows? 
The  few  who  gain  the  crumbs  are  encouraged  to  ask  again;  those 
not  favored  are  discontented. 

We  are  glad  to  be  home;  glad  to  have  seen,  to  know  what  the 
meaning  of  the  day  has  brought  for  us.  Of  one  thing  we  are 
certain:  that  for  all   al)sence  of  comfort  or  convenience,  for  anv- 


10  A    Woman's   W amiki{1.\(;s. 

thing  s:ivt'  Mistering:  iu  ;i  liot  sun,  tatinj:  hnuhei)n  liom  the  top 
of  coac-ht's,  drinking  (juantitit's  of  warm  champagne,  and  endur- 
ing cheerfully  all  the  discomforts  of  this  day.  exceeded  any  race- 
course I  have  ever  known  or  heard  of.  I  will  with  pleasure 
award  the  palm  to  these  our  cousins,  take  off  my  hat  and  say, 
'*  Enough;   I  have  had  my  day.  and  am  content." 

It  was  not  long  hefore  London  tired  me.  Undergrt>und  rail- 
ways were  l)ad.  We  weaiied  of  dim.  mustv  old  crypts,  where 
royalty  lies  under  carved  stone,  where  statues,  husts,  heroic 
end)lems.  wonls  of  praise  count  as  nothing  now.  and  were  glad 
to  get  tiut.  to  till  our  lungs  with  i)ure,  fresh  air.  and  lie  tliankful 
we  are  living  in  the  glorious  present. 

All  the  grand  things  one  reads  of  seem  to  dwindle  when  one  is 
on  the  scene  of  action.  For  exanii)le.  we  witnessed  the  trooping 
of  the  colors,  whereat  a  numher  of  the  royal  family  presided. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  rode  away  through  the  dense  crowd,  and 
the  lew  weak  cheers  that  greeted  him  were  all  the  more  notice- 
alile  for  the  hearty  greeting  given  the  Princess  as  she  followed 
him.  The  people  love  her.  and  it  jileases  me  to  hear  the  hearty 
greetings.     They  know  and  ap}irei'iate  her  truth  and  })urity. 

One  is  soon  disillusioned  in  going  through  places  for  which 
London  has  long  been  famous.  The  Crystal  Palace  is  a  sort  of 
catchjiemiy  affair,  and  does  not  i>ay  for  the  going. 

It  will  he  long  hefore  I  forget  tlie  afternoon  spent  with  some 
California  friends  after  the  drive  and  parade,  where  hospitality, 
good  cheer,  wit.  and  wisdom  were  well  mixed  and  well  seasoned. 
The  evening  was  far  advanced  when  T  started  in  a  hansom, 
alone,  for  my  hotel.  The  driver  was  filled  with  something  he- 
sides  mere  joy  at  thi'  prospect  of  a  fare.  for.  after  driving  me 
through  various  intricate  streets,  he  stopped  at  a  corner  and 
said  "Get  out."  I  knew  he  was  not  at  the  number  given  him, 
and  said  so;  but  he  insisted  it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  block. 
I  looked  around  when  I  alighted,  and  knew  he  was  not  telling 
the  truth.  I  refused  to  pay  him  unless  he  took  me  to  my  hotel. 
A  crowd  gathei-ed  jn  a  moment. —  a  yelling,  seetliing  mass  of 
men.  boys,  and  women.  "Pay  the  man  his  fare";  "Want  to 
cheat  a  ]»oor  cabby?"  In  vain  I  apjx'aled  to  a  policeman;  he 
eitlier  was  in  the  same  condition  as  cabby,  or  else  would  not 
troulile   himself  with   an    American.     So    I    was    fort'e(l    to    i>ay 


England.  13 

tlio  faro;  then  a  greater  cry  arose  beeause  I  had  not  given  tlie 
exi)eeted  "tip."  Then  the  spirit  of  my  forefathers  arose,  and 
I  said  I  would  be  sorry  to  break  up  a  friendly  feeling  between 
two  nations,  or  institute  a  stay  of  proceedings  regarding 
international  marriages,  but  I  would  stand  by  my  convic- 
tions, that  he  would  never  force  a  i)enny  more  out  of  my  purse. 
I  walked  on,  with  a  mob  howling  at  my  heels,  at  ten  o'clock 
at  night,  not  knowing  in  the  least  where  I  was,  or  what  the 
end  might  be,  but  ready  to  do  and  dare  anything  rather  than 
give  in.  It  Avas  pity  that  saved  me,  for  out  of  the  crowd  came 
a  little  girl,  who  ran  up  to  me,  saying,  "Lady,  I  heard  you  say 
where  you  wanted  to  go;  I  will  show  you."  — "  But  I  can  tind  a 
sober  policeman,"  I  said.  "  O,  please  let  me;  I  won't  let  them 
hurt  you."  Rather  than  show  lack  of  confidence,  I  assented, 
thinking  I  would  soon  find  my  way,  or  some  one  to  tell  me 
the  street  I  wanted.  A  sudden  turn,  and  I  knew  where  I  was, 
so  let  the  little  barefooted  girl  go  to  the  door,  and  gave  her 
cabby's  "tip,"  and  enough  beside  to  make  her  never  regret  her 
brave  act. 

I  saw,  among  the  many  singers  in  London,  Patti,  who  sang 
in  the  Royal  Albert  Hall  to  an  audience  of  eight  thousand 
people.  It  seems  to  me  her  voice  is  as  sweet  and  clear  as  it 
was  years  ago.  We  saw  Bernhardt,  also.  It  is  wonderful  to 
see  and  hear  these  two  women.  The  years  seem  to  touch  them 
lightly,  indeed;  they  seem  destined  never  to  grow  old.  We 
saw  so  much  that  was  good, — music,  drama,  etc., —  that  it  is 
needless  to  dwell  on  it  longer. 

The  trip  to  Windsor  is  lovely,  and  the  old  palace  grand,  l»ut 
the  state  apartments  have  not  been  renovated  in  ages;  the 
hangings  in  many  rooms  are  worn  threadbare,  and  so  faded  that 
the  custodians  who  show  them  seem  called  upon  to  apologize, 
telling  us  they  looked  much  better  when  filled  with  flowers  and 
decorated  for  receptions.  The  view  from  the  tower  is  unsur- 
passed; the  park,  wooded  hills,  the  river  winding  through  it,  are 
all  one  could  desire.  So  is  St.  George's  Chapel,  famous  for 
weddings,  christenings,  etc.,  that  it  is  needless  to  dwell  thereon. 

More  than  Windsor  did  we  enjoy  the  drive  to  Eton  and  on  to 
Stoke  Poges,  through  green  lanes,  on  a  dusky  afternoon,  in  a 
carriage  with  horse  and  driver  in  strict  accord   with  the  dreamy 


14  A    Woman's   \\'am>i:ki.\(;s. 

old  place.  Near  tlu'  nld  churi'li  is  tlic  home  of  William  Ptiiii, 
l)Ut.  save  tiie  location  in  a  lovt-ly  okl  park,  wc  cared  not. 

But  what  tender  memorie^^  surged  up  as  we  stood  beneath  the 
(dd  ■■  yew's  shade,"  and  l)y  the  tomb  where  rests  one  the  civilized 
world  loves.  Gray's  Elegy  and  the  writer  will  be  rememl)ered 
in  all  the  ages  to  come.  '"  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell"  as  we 
stood  in  the  old  church  he  loved  so  well,  which  fills  one's  idea  of 
infinite  peace  and  rest.  It  is  changed  l)ut  little  since  he  lived, 
loved,  and  wrote  of  it.  The  very  atmosphere  breathes  of  con- 
tent, of  worship.  In  strong  contrast  to  all,  there,  where  life's 
vanities  and  vexations  seem  to  enter  not,  from  the  peace  and 
rest,  where  kindness  and  good-felhUvship  abound.  I  turn  to  an- 
other scene. 

I  recall  crowds  of  church  iK-ople  as  I  saw  them  on  Sunday  at 
Hyde  Park.  —  gay  promenaders,  who  make  "church  }nirade"  such 
an  event  that  thousands  go  to  view  the  folks  as  they  meet  here 
after  divine  service,  passing  and  repassing  in  countless  numbers, 
vieing  with  each  other  in  gorgeous  raiment.  Ladies  gowned  as 
if  for  swell  functions,  and  save  for  the  fact  the  shoulders  are 
covered,  there  is  little  difference  between  cliurch  gowns  and  the 
opera.  They  talk,  chat,  and  flirt  in  picturesque  places,  under 
the  great  trees,  among  the  flowers,  and  it  is  all  very  sweet.  v(M-y 
pretty;  pleasant  to  look  at.  also.  Init  we  wonder  if  this  i>  done  in 
the  spirit  of  true  religion.  Perhaps  it  is  all  right,  l)ut  for  the 
weary  soul  longing  for  something  better,  for  something  the  world 
cannot  give,  it  seems  to  me  the  quiet  old  church  at  Stoke  Poges 
would  be  the  one  to  seek. 

At  Stoke  Poges  we  are  reveling  in  green  tieids.  tilled  witli 
herds,  whiling  away  hours,  feeding  the  tame  deer,  and  playing 
with  the  little  fawns,  scarcely  larger  than  the  rabltits  among 
them.  We  frighten  grouse,  and  rest  beside  the  hawthorn  hedges, 
now  t)ne  mass  of  i)ink  and  white  flowers;  loiter  by  swift, 
limpid  streams,  see  the  fish  lea})ing  up,  and   I  long  for  a    line, 

—  I  might  catch  a  "  h'eel,"  as  one  fellow  said  he  would  do, 
but,  though   I  waited  jiatiently,  I  did  not  see  an  eel. 

We  have  seen  many  lovely  homes,  and  know  something  of 
the  typical  PZnglish  life  not  to  be  found  in  cities.  The  road 
from  Stoke  Poges  to  Stratford-on-Avon  is  ideal  in  its  sweetness, 

—  a  succession  of  stone  walls,  green  hetlges,  trees  that  meet  over- 


England.  15 

head,  —  what  a  lesson  our  penjilc  iiii,i;lit  learn  from  it.  Kverv 
road  is  lined  with  trees;  all  over  the  titdds  they  are  carefully 
preserved.  If  a  tree  dies,  one  is  immediately  put  heside  it, 
and  surely  it  is  worth  while. 

At  Sti'atford,  we  were  in  the  old  house  where  Shakespeare 
was  born,  and  we  wandered  througli  woods  and  fields  he  loved  so 
well.  At  every  turn  we  find  something  interesting.  We  are 
housed  in  the  ([uaint^'st  of  quaint  inns;  the  rooms  furnished 
in  the  style  of  a  eentury  ago.  Each  has  a  story  and  a  name; 
one  is  labeled  "Love's  Labor  Lost";  another,  "A  Midsunnner 
Night's  Dream";  but  each  and  all  l)espeak  comfort,  rest,  and 
such  dreams  as  fragrant  summer  nights  might  bring. 

We  have  all  sorts  of  experiences.  They  seem  to  think  here 
that  two  women  traveling  alone  have  no  right  to  the  earth,  or 
the  things  in  it.  or  on  it.  unless  we  plaster  it  with  gokl.  We 
feel,  however,  that  we  have  been  equal  to  emergencies,  going 
about  with  the  blissful  thought  that  there  are  two  Americans 
who  have  the  desire  to  do  what  is  right  —  and  draw  the  line  at 
that. 

In  regard  to  giving  certain  tips,  a  fellow  said  to  me.  •'  Two  of 
your  countrymen  treated  me  very  well  last  year,"  and  added, 
"  It  is  customary  to  give  accordin'  to  yer  means."  I  rej)lied, 
"  My  custom  is,  for  value  received  and  services  rendered,  give 
according  to  your  sense  and  judgment,  then  sto])  at  that." 

Whatever  the  cause  I  know  not,  but  England  will  soon  outdo 
Italy  in  beggars.  The  bone  and  sinew  of  the  country  do  not 
hesitate  to  accept  a  pittance,  and  not  for  any  real  service 
rendered  —  only  it  is  customary,  they  say.  The  poorest  of  our 
laborers  would  scorn  to  take  such  gratuities;  if  they  did,  they 
would  lose  their  manhood  and  self-respect. 

We  have  visited  Warwick  Castle  and  many  other  i)laees  in 
this  vicinity,  finding  in  each  something  interesting  and  well 
worth  the  time;  finding,  also,  this  the  first  place  where  we 
could  rest  and  recuperate  from  the  fatigue  of  traveling  since 
leaving  home. 

We  purposely  left  Kenilworth  for  the  last.  It  was  on  such  an 
afternoon  as  Ossian  descril)es,  when  the  sun  went  down  in  dusky 
red  behind  a  dim,  l)lue  mist  that  hung  over  the  distant  hills, 
fields,  and  woods,  that  we  entered  the  urav.  crundilinii  old  ruins 


16 


A    W'dman's  Wandkiun* 


wliosf  niiirvt'lniis  Ix-auty  caniint  l»i'  (U'Si-ril»i'(l.  Its  liistory  is  too 
well  kiinwii  to  l»e  repeated  ;  but  the  grandeur  of  it,  tlie  charm  of 
the  nicaddws  as  seen  from  the  crumbling  towers,  pass  descrip- 
tion. The  mind  goes  V)aek  to  tlie  fifteenth  century,  to  the 
splendors  of  years  long  gone.  All  is  (juiet  and  peaceful  now, 
except  the  noise  from  a  flock  of  rooks  gathering  in  the  evening, 
seeking  shelter  among  the  ivy  l>ranches  clinging  so  lovingly 
to  the  old  walls.  In  a  quadrangle  a  peacock's  shrill  note 
causes  us  to  look  at  him,  spreading  his  bright  plumage  against 
the  dull-gray  background  —  a  flash  of  color  and  brightness, 
just  a  little  reminder  of  past  glory.  We  sat  there,  wrapped 
in  thought,  tlie  solemnity  stealing  into  the  soul,  steeping  the 
senses,  mitil  our  driver,  weary  of  waiting,  and  wanting  his 
evening  meal.  doul)tless,  aroused  us  to  the  fact  that  night  was 
around  us,  and,  still  in  dreamland,  as  it  seemed,  we  left;  and 
in  dreams  that  followed,  Kenilworth  and  the  past  and  present 
were  mixetl  and  interwoven  until  another  day,  and  real  life, 
came  hack  to  us. 


KKNn.WOHTH    CASTI.K. 


IRELAAD. 

Y\ii)y\  Holyheixil  to  Ireland  ue  wont  acrosi?  on  the  steamer 
Bantilxx',  making  the  trip  in  about  three  hours.  The  sea  was 
with«^ut  a  ripple,  blue  and  misty,  as  was  the  sky  overhead. 
t^uch  a  blending  of  sky  and  sea  that  it  hardly  seemed  real 
until  we  entered  the  harbor  of  Dul)lin,  and  knew,  without  the 
telling,  we  were  in  the  Liffey.  Shades  of  departed  ages,  what 
ean  compare  with  the  smells  of  this  old  river !  For  the  sake 
of  generations  to  come,  we  were  glad  to  learn  later  the  system 
(tf  sewerage  is  being  changed,  and  in  the  near  future  the  Liffey 
will  be  what  it  should  have  been  years  ago — a  beautiful  stream. 

I  fain  would  describe  the  novelty  of  seeing  Dublin  on  a 
jaunting-car.  One  day's  experience  was  worth  something,  but 
the  wrenches  and  aches  following  the  ride  were  not  so  pleasant. 
Being  urged  to  go  again  on  the  following  day,  I  was  informed, 
as  if  to  settle  the  matter  at  once,  that  the   nobility  of   England 


i;l..\KNKY    CA^TLK. 

17 


18  A     W'ti.MAN".-     \\'.\M)i:iUN(iS. 

had  ridden  in  such  cars.  -And,  sure  mum,  you're  hioking 
heartier  than  any  of  them."  made  me  feel  it  was  useless  to 
demur.  So  we  drove  throuji;h  Sackville  Street,  past  Nelson's 
Monument.  Hank  of  Ireland,  and  Trinity  College.  Stei)hens 
Green  and  Ph«enix  Park  we  saw  afterwards,  at  our  leisure. 

In  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  among  the  things  I  recall  are 
two  marhle  slahs  which  cover  the  quiet  earth  where  rest  Dean 
Swift  and  she  who  was  the  '"Stella"  of  his  })oetry.  Looking 
upon  the  slal).  I  wondered  wliy  he  aftirmed  that  hippiness 
hereon  earth  consisted  in  '•l)eing  well  deceived."  Was  it  specu- 
lation? or  was  he  so  well  deceived,  that  deception  made  him 
hap})y   and   content? 

We  stood  in  the  cemetery  at  Glasnevin,  and  saw  where  lies 
Parnell.  without  stone  or  granite  column,  but  there  are  flowers 
there,  and  evidence  of  loving  remembrance.  The  shaft  in 
memory  of  O'Connell  is  very  imposing,  such  as  I  am  sure 
will  be  put  up  before  long  over  Parnell. 

In  old  Dublin  we  saw  much  of  poverty  and  sorrow  that  we 
gladly  would  have  missed,  only  our  driver  was  conscientious, 
and  insisted  that  we  had  the  right  to  see  both  sides  of  the 
picture. 

A  day  that  was  like  a  dream  was  spent  in  County  Wicklow, 
driving  through  green  lanes,  lovely  dells,  and  cool,  sweet 
Dargle.  I  recall  the  Lover's  Leap,  and  the  lazy  old  beggar 
seated  on  a  moss-covered  lioulder,  evoking  plaintive,  quavering 
notes  from  a  shaky  old  violin,  which  were  in  harmony  with 
the  faint  sounds  that  came  uj)  from  the  silvery-threaded 
Vartry,  which  sang  on  its  way,  every  rod  a  liquid  poem,  far 
below  where  we  sat  and  reveled  in  the  delicious  coolness  of 
the  wind-swept  jutting  rocks.  The  few  pennies  ])estowed  upon 
the  mossy  old  minstrel  made  his  heart  glad,  and  the  blessings 
poured  upon  the  heads  of  the  "fair  ladies"  were  no  liindrance 
to  our  day's  enjoyment. 

The  village  of  Kilkenny,  with  its  odd  thatched  roofs,  the 
children,  pigs,  and  goats  living  together  in  peace,  if  not  in 
plenty,  was  charming  to  see.  The  happy,  good-natured  people, 
the  pleasant  smiles,  and  hearty  assistance  that  is  given  with 
no  thought  of  reward,  constitute  one  of  the  greatest  charms  of 
Ireland   and    her  ]ifople. 


Ireland.  19 

We  were  overtired  with  cities,  and  soon  left  for  Bray,  remain- 
ing ten  days,  for  rest  and  sea-batliing.  Tliis  delightful  little 
watering-place  is  beautifully  located,  and  it  was  hard  for  us  to 
leave.  The  walks,  drives,  and  boating  are  matchless.  I  recall 
an  afternoon  spent  on  the  slopes  of  Bray's  Head,  which  is  a 
poem  in  itself,  lying  listless  among  the  tall  grasses  and  red- 
topped  clover,  with  the  hum  of  bees  about  me,  sweet  odors  from 
countless  flowers,  breezes  blown  from  hedges  gleaming  with  wild 
roses  and  honeysuckle,  all  mixed  and  interwoven  with  songs 
from  the  Inrds,  while  away  up  and  overhead  a  frivolous  lilting 
air,  that  went  to  the  heart  as  an  intoxicant  goes  to  the  head, 
came  the  clear,  joyous  notes  of  the  skylark.  The  winds  caught 
the  melody  and  carried  it  floating  and  wavering  away,  like  the 
downy,  feathery  ball  that  is  l)lown  from  the  dandelion,  while,  as 
a  sort  of  accompaniment  from  the  dim,  misty  sea  far  below, 
came  the  muffled  sound  of  waters  dashing  on  the  rock-girt 
shores. 

Out  and  over  the  sea,  that  spread  without  l)reak  or  wave,  lay 
the  Hill  of  Howth  and  lighthouse,  where  we  s})ent  one  beautiful 
day.  Nearer  was  Kingstown,  with  Dul)Iin  harbor  between.  I 
turned  from  it  to  the  western  hills.  A  l)road  shaft  of  sunlight 
struck  on  the  ])lue  peaks,  while  the  eastern  sky  was  green  and 
opal;  below,  the  long  lines  of  gray  stone  houses,  with  slate  roofs, 
blending  so  beautifully  with  the  varied  foliage  of  forests  in  the 
background — a  faint  rosy  mist  —  a  confusion  of  gold  and 
orange  hovered  over  the  sea,  so,  with  eyes  filled  with  the 
glamour  of  the  sunset,  and,  perhaps,  something  else,  as  the  sun 
went  Pacitieward  —  I  came  down  the  path  lined  with  gra}^  stone 
walls,  under  cliffs  overhanging  the  sea,  looking  at  the  ships 
dotting  the  water,  listening  to  the  puffing  of  the  tiny  toy-like 
engines  pulling  the  equally  small  cars  over  a  roadl)ed  unequaled 
for  smoothness  and  solidity.  I  wonder  why  our  roads  are  so 
inferior  to  these,  when  our  cars  are  such  marvels  of  comfort 
compared  to  the  best  here. 

Down  on  the  Esplanade,  as  we  sat  in  the  twilight,  a  poor 
woman  stopped  near  us,  and  in  a  thin,  quavering  voice  that, 
despite  its  weakness,  was  full  of  pathos  and  melody,  sang 
"  Kathleen  Mavourneen."  We  gave  her  some  coins  and  asked 
her  to  tell  us  why  she  sang  for  the  pennies,  which,  to  judge  from 


20  A   Woman's  \Vani)K1{J.N(;s. 

her  ajipt'araiK-i'.  wvw  pitt-ously  ivw.  ^hv  said  ht-r  huf^liand  was 
ill;  that  she  had  tliirteen  children,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  mar- 
ried, with  two  hahes  and  a  worthless  husV)and  adding  to  the  moth- 
er's burden.  "•  I  can  do  no  less."  she  said,  "  than  share  my  last 
potaty  with  her." 

And  so  the  story  eould  go  on.  From  the  hills  it  is  so  beauti- 
ful, one  can  scarcely  imagine  aught  of  sorrow  or  distress  in  the 
world  down  among  the  crowds,  where  children  swarm  like  bees. 

We  saw  the  crowded  streets,  the  boatloads  of  men  and  boys 
from  all  over  Ireland,  crossing  to  England  for  the  harvesting, — 
nothing  for  idle  hands  to  do  here,  —  so  many,  many  people,  so 
little  land  to  cultivate.  The  immense  holdings,  like  those  of 
Powerscourt,  Meath,  and  others,  the  vast  estates  wherein  are 
deer,  herds  of  cattle,  rabbits,  and  birds,  all  well  cared  for ;  sleek, 
fat,  sheltered  from  all  harm  and  danger,  while  all  over  the  beau- 
tiful country  is  heard  the  cry  from  the  starving,  helpless  throngs! 
I  wonder  if  there  will  ever  be  an  accounting  or  reckoning  in  this 
land,  where  the  gentry,  as  they  call  them,  own  the  land,  keep- 
ing it  for  uses  above  mentioned,  and  force  people  into  cities, 
where  poverty  and  pauperism  run  riot. 

So  many  inquire  eagerly  about  America.  One  girl,  who  works 
in  a  hotel,  harder  than  any  slave  in  the  old  days,  not  knowing 
what  it  is  to  have  a  day  off,  or  evening  either,  for  that  matter, 
gets  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  per  week !  Everywhere  it  is  the 
same,  —  so  many  people,  so  little  to  do.  I  think  it  would  be  well 
if  Church  and  State  would  make  it  a  crime  for  a  child  to  be  born 
of  })oor  parents  for  the  next  hundred  years.  I  am  sure  Heaven 
would  approve  the  law. 

The  visit  to  tlic  \'ale  of  Avoca  was  one  that  lingers  with 
me  like  a  strain  of  sweet  music.  An  emerald  valley  nestling 
among  green  hills  breathes  of  poetry  and  romance.  There, 
under  a  magnificent  oak,  Moore  wrote  "There  is  not  in  this 
wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet."  and  just  at  that  point  the 
Avonmore  and  Avonl)eg  unite  and  rijipio  joyously  along,  and, 
though  the  vale  is  small  and  the  twin  rivers  scarcely  more 
than  a  mere  brook,  the  effect  is  all  one  could  wisli.  Size, 
rusli,  and  roar  are  not  all  that  is  desiral)le  in  rivers. 

We  went  to  Glendalough  and  Seven  Churches.  We  sat  in  the 
wishinu-ehair    of    St.    Kevins,   and     were    assured     bv   the  guide 


I  UK  I.  A  NO.  21 

that  W(_'  would  lu'vcr  have  iK-aclachc.  liackaclu-,  (if  any  other 
ill.  We  i>ai(l  for  it  all,  and  took  the  unleavened  truth  with- 
out salt,  just  as  we  do  our  ))utter.  and  went  on  thinkini:  tiie 
larks  very  wise  hirds  for  refusinj; ,  to  sing  in  Olenda lough, 
preferring,  like  ourselves,  the  uplands,  fields,  and  meadows. 

We  drove  four  miles  thrcnigh  a  beautiful  country  to  visit 
Melleray,  a  Trappist  monastery.  They  live  a  very  secluded 
life,  have  some  eight  hundred  acres  of  tine  land,  make  what 
they  wear,  and  raise  what  they  eat.  They  arise  at  two  in  the 
morning.  In  speaking  to  one  of  the  brothers,  I  said  I  should 
not  mind  it  so  much  in  summer.  '"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "it 
is  far  better  in  winter.  It  is  so  cold  then,  one  does  not  feel 
sleepy,  as  during  the  w\arm  days."  That  is  the  whole  of  it  — 
to  suffer,  to  endure;  and  why  ?  I  can  never  believe  that  an 
all-wise  Providence  intended  that  flesh  and  blood  should  so 
suffer.  They  do  so  much  good,  help  the  poor,  educate  them, 
care  for  them,  and  that  of  itself  is  meritorious. 

From  there  we  went  back  to  Cappoquin,  thence  l)y  l)oat 
down  the  Blackwater,  or  "Irish  Rhine,"  to  Youghal.  It  was 
a  beautiful  trip,  and  interesting.  As  I  stood  by  the  captain's 
side,  hearing  stories  of  feudal  times,  looking  at  the  mossy,  ivy- 
covered  remains  of  old  castles  and  towers,  the  bright  light  lay 
upon  the  mottled  surface  of  ancient  walls,  and  the  winds  blew 
fresh  from  the  small  patches  of  new-mown  hay.  There  were 
still  bits  of  water  where  swans  floated  among  white  water- 
lilies,  followed  l)y  their  fuzzy  little  ones.  There  were  the 
lovely  roads,  the  very  acme  of  comfort  for  cyclists,  pleasant 
wooded  paths,  and  cool  nooks  for  anglers.  There  were  fisher- 
men in  boats,  with  nets  for  salmon-fishing,  each  man  or 
family  paying  for  the  pleasant  pastime  seventy  dollars,  for  the 
season,  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  who  owns  the  river,  as  well 
as  the  land,  it  appears. 

In  Youghal  we  visited  the  house  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and 
the  old  cathedral,  one  of  the  first  of  Ireland's  Franciscan 
abbeys.  The  old  custodian  was  delighted  when  we  told  him 
we  were  from  California.  He  had  ]>een  in  San  Francisco  in 
'52.  His  white,  weird  face  seemed  Ijathed  in  a  sort  of  moon- 
light, a  reflection  of  his  surroundings,  possibly,  with  the  yearn- 
ings of  a  whole    lifetime    in   his    eves.      He    said.  ■"  Vou  are  to 


22  A  Woman's  W.\M)Kkin(;s. 

be  envied;  why  do  you  travel?  1  would  rather  he  "  lynched' 
or  hanjred  in  California  than  die  liere."  Strange  contrariety 
of  human  nature!  His  life  seemed  so  peaceful,  there  among 
the  trees  and  flowers  V>looming  over  the  dead,  the  majesty  of 
the  old  abbey  and  gray  mottled,  vine-wreathed  walls,  a  dear 
little  house,  and  sweet  old  wife  to  care  for  him  —  still,  that 
longing  to  be  by  sundown  seas !  We  had  a  cifp  of  tea  with 
them,  and  left  the  two  by  their  cheery  peat  fire. 

From  Youghal  to  Cork,  a  short  distance  by  rail,  from  the 
Blackwater,  and  old  feudal  castles,  and  lawless  feudal  times, 
to  the  bustle  of  a  modern  town,  electric  cars,  lights,  bright 
cheery  houses,  and,  best  of  all,  a  good  hotel,  I  rest,  and  am  glad. 
The  days  that  followed  were  bright,  the  weather  perfect. 
We  went  to  Queenstown,  and  were  surprised  to  see  so  beau- 
tiful a  place;  the  harbor  is  tine,  and  a  miniature  Golden  Gate 
greeted  us  with  strangely  familiar  points.  We  heard  the  famous 
bells  of  Shandon,  and,  as  in  duty  bound,  went  to  Blarney  Castle, 
and  at  no  small  risk  of  life  and  an  utter  disregard  of  the 
spinal  column,  kissed  the  Blarney  stone  —  foolish,  probably, 
but  they  who  would  be  shy  of  foolish  and  inane  frolics  should 
not  go  there. 

Our  visit  to  Killarney  was  not  all  we  desired.  From  Glen- 
gariff  to  the  lakes,  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  w^e  drove  through 
a  rainstorm  that  meant  business  a  great  portion  of  the  way. 
Our  storm-coats  did  good  service,  but  were  not  altogether 
proof  against  the  rain.  Umbrellas  were  torn  and  rendered 
useless;  but  it  was  warm,  so  it  did  not  matter  greatly.  There 
were  fourteen  of  us  in  an  open  coach.  All  fared  alike,  and 
there  was  no  grumbling.  Occasionally  there  was  a  lifting  of 
the  curtain  that  enveloped  the  hills;  then  the  clouds  would 
break  away.  The  sun,  at  intervals,  gave  us  beautiful  rainbow 
effects,  as  well  as  glimpses  of  purple  mountains  and  deep 
ravines,  as  we  drove  on,  past  the  vast  peat-beds,  and  the 
immense  heaps  of  queer  little  brick-shaped  pieces  drying 
(which,  by  the  way,  I  may  add,  is  not  used  by  the  poorer 
classes  alone,  but  is  quite  the  fad  in  select  London  homes). 

There  seemed  but  little  effort  in  an  agricultural  way  along 
the  whole  route;  mostly  grazing  lands,  each  little  patch  sur- 
rounded by  stone  fences,  and  while    the  herbage   was  not  very 


Ihki.axd.  25 

abundant,  the  goats  and  Kerry  t-ows  looked  in  far  better  con- 
dition than  the  people. 

Our  driver  told  us  many  quaint  stories  while  })ointing  out 
the  historical  and  local  points  of  interest  over  the  mountains. 
One,  I  remember,  was  of  an  old  lady  who  lived  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Blackwater,  who,  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and  forty, 
climbed  a  cherry-tree  in  search  of  her  favorite  fruit,  fell  from 
the  tree,  and  so  cut  short  a  life  doubtless  well  spent.  I  tind 
they  have  their  cherry-tree  stories  here  also;  this  heroine  was 
lucky,  however,  in  finding  a  tree,  for  I  have  seen  no  orchards 
whatever  in  all  of  Ireland.  I  heard  of  some  apple  trees  near 
Cappoquin,  and  was  i)romised  some  cider,  luit  had  only  the 
promise. 

The  day  following  the  storm  was  pleasant,  and  we  enjoved 
the  lakes  greatly.  They  are  well  worth  the  trouble  experienced 
in  getting  to  them,  Init  I  could  not,  in  all  conscience,  grow 
wild  over  "  crags  that  lift  to  clouds  their  scraggy  heads,"  all 
of  which  reads  well,  l)ut  I  doubt  very  much  if  Moore  had 
traveled  extensiveh' — or,  if  he  had,  he  was  given  a  bit  to 
exaggeration. 

After  Alaska  and  our  own  mountain  scener}',  they  seem  tame 
enough,  though  there  is  no  doubt  about  the  clouds  wreathing 
their  scraggy  heads;  they  drift  so  low,  the  trees  are  high  enough 
for  that  purpose.  It  is  not  the  height,  however,  that  gives 
beauty;  they  are  not  grand  nor  majestic,  but  there  is  a  love- 
liness hard  to  describe. 

From  the  higher  peaks  to  the  lower  levels  the  air  was 
fresh  and  pure,  the  sun  sparkled  on  the  gleaming  waters, 
dotted  with  such  dear  little  islands,  clothed  in  trees  and  ver- 
dure to  the  very  water's  edge.  Then  the  wealth  and  ])eauty 
of  a  foliage  and  undergrowth  we  know  nothing  of  at  home. 
The  larches  and  beech  trees  were  lovely  and  the  music  of 
the  birds,  ever  around  us,  clear  and  sweet;  the  thrushes  sang 
from  swaying  boughs,  the  saucy  robins  chirrui)ed  everywhere, 
the  blackbird's  flute-like  notes  came  from  the  marsh-lands, 
tiny  warblers  piping  from  the  dense  holly  trees,  making  the 
whole  perfect  as  to  melody,  song,  and  rural  beauty. 

Muckross  Abbey,  Ross  Castle,  and  the  drives  in  and  around 
Killarney  cannot   be  forgotten  —  especially   a  trip  through    the 


2(>  A    Woman's   \\'AM)KiuN(i8. 

Kenmjire  estate,  where  we  drovf  tlnou^Mi  avenues  of  magnificent 
lime  trees,  miles  of  greensward,  with  (h-cr.  rabbits,  herds  of 
cattle,  and  the  hum  of  insects  in  our  tars  —  the  very  fullness  of 
summer  life  in  evidence  everywhere,  a  blending  and  commin- 
gling  of  all   the  sweet,  strange  sounds  one  hears  in  the  woods. 

We  were  quite  pleased  with  Limerick,  it  Ijeing  the  first  place 
that  looked  like  one  of  our  own  cities.  The  streets  are  broad 
and  clean,  save  in  some  portions.  We  were  most  interested  in 
the  old  "  treaty  stone,"  which  every  son  of  Erin,  at  least,  remem- 
bers. I  cannot  recommend  Limerick  for  a  long  stay,  however. 
We  were  forced  to  remain  over  Sunday,  l^ecause  no  trains  enter 
or  leave  on  that  day,  which  is  well  enough — only  on  Monday, 
at  the  station,  it  took  three  men  and  a  boy  half  an  liour  looking 
over  time-tables,  books,  and  statistics  to  tell  us  how  we  could  get 
to  Belfast,  and  then  they  neglected  to  mention  we  had  to  change 
in  half  an  hour  after  leaving  Limerick.  We  know  by  this  time 
to  be  on  the  alert,  and  trust  no  man,  especially  if  he  is  an  official. 
He  may,  if  very  bright,  know  something  about  tiie  road  to  the 
next  station  —  beyond  ihat  it  is  not  safe  to  trust  liini. 

In  a  run  of  ten  hours  that  day,  we  had  five  minutes  to  get  a 
cujiof  tea  and  a  stah'  l»un.  in  cars  noted  for  being  uncomfortal)le, 
with  no  accommodations  whatever;  yet  the  fares  are  more  than 
double  what  ours  are  at  home. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  travel  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  the  country 
was  so  fertile  and  prosperous.  The  scenery  through  the  valley  of 
the  Boyne  was  interesting,  well  wooded,  richly  cultivated.  Here 
was  the  battle-ground  of  James  II.  and  the  Prince  of  Orange.  I 
saw  Drogheda,  and  a  tliought  of  stern  old  Cromwell's  merciless 
campaign  comes  to  me.  Dundalk.  wherein  was  crowned  the  last 
of  Ireland's  kings.  Edward  Bruce,  who  was  killed  near  here,  not 
many  months  after,  hy  the  British. 

Manufactories  were  everywhere,  for  here  are  where  the  beauti- 
ful linens  are  made;  well-tilled  fields,  houses,  and  cottages  giv- 
ing evidence  of  thrift  and  enterprise;  no  desolate  homes  or  for- 
saken patches  left  by  tenants,  —  whether  V)v  misfortune  or  indo- 
lence we  know  not,  l)Ut  making  the  south  of  Ireland  in  many 
places  a  pitiful  s{)ectaele. 

Belfast  is  a  beautiful  city,  and  very  prosperous.  We  visited 
many  factories,  and  the  peoi)le  seemed  cheerful  and  happy;   the 


Ireland.  27 

linens  and  laces  tem})teil  us  greatly,  but  a  wave  of  patriotic  feel- 
ing, or  a  fear  of  duties  on  such  when  we  got  to  New  York,  made 
us  leave  them  with  sighs  of  regret. 

In  a  neat,  well-kept  park  I  saw  a  castle,  whose  owner  once  said, 
"he  would  not  exchange  for  a  seat  in  heaven."  How  these  peo- 
ple love  their  homes;  and  this  one,  surely,  was  beautiful  enough 
to  make  the  old  man  thoroughly  satisfied  with  his  earthly  sur- 
roundings, but  some  one  else  now  enjoys  the  home  he  once  loved 
so  well. 

The  factory  people  do  not  seem  to  be  so  downtrodden  and  V)ur- 
dened  with  work  that  they  cannot  enjoy  life.  One  evening  a 
picnic  party  headed  by  a  band  returned  as  the  factory  crowds 
were  pouring  into  a  square  in  front  of  my  hotel.  The  musicians 
struck  up  a  lively  air,  and  instantly  hundreds  were  seen  dancing, 
young  and  old,  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  delight,  and,  too,  as  though 
it  were  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  cut  capers  on  those  hard, 
stony  streets,  —  nearly  every  soul  barefooted,  Init  enjoying  the 
jig  in  the  fullest  measure. 

I  saw  Londonderry,  and  lovely  Loch  Foyle,  and  the  Giant's 
Causeway.  This  marvelous  basaltic  promontory  extending  quite 
a  distance  out  into  the  sea,  composed  of  huge  piles  of  prismatic 
columns,  which  range  from  triangular  to  nonagon,  are  quite 
compact. 

The  old  round  towers,  cliffs,  and  ruined  castles,  crumbling  old 
vine-wreathed  churches,  scenes  of  pastoral  loveliness,  I  leave 
with  regret.  We  unfurl  our  flag  to  the  breeze,  for  this  is  the 
Fourth  of  July.  A  part  of  the  day  is  spent  in  Ireland.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  we  embark  at  Larne,  crossing  over  to  Stranraer. 


SC  f)TLA\D. 

ScAKcKl.Y  liad  we  h-ft  tlu-  harlior  ln-fort'  the  dim  outlint's  of 
S('otl;ui<l  aj)i»<':irc(l  al'ovc  tlit'  stivtcli  (»f  water  that  lay  smooth 
and  >iiarkliiiL'  lictwccii  tin-  two  countries.  The  tri}*  across  was 
ideal  in  its  loveliness.  Erin's  shores,  her  little  })atehes  of  farm- 
lands, a  rejiular  network  of  stone  fences  and  irreen  hedges,  were 
scarcely  out  of  sight  ere  we  landed,  and  the  exiiuisite  scenery  of 
the  land  of  heath  and  broom  charmed  our  eyes,  as  we  sped  on  in 
the  glory  of  sunset  and  a  twilight  marvelous  in  s|)lendor  and 
clearness.  The  sun  disappeared  at  8:45.  l»ut  when  we  stopi)ed  at 
Glasgow  at  11,  there  was  still  a  broad,  vivid  streak  in  the  west. 

I  saw  the  parks  that  skirt  the  river  Clyde,  Catlin  Hill,  the 
l)lace  where  Mary  Queen  (^f  Scots  witnessed  the  defeat  of  her 
forces,  and  the  old  cathedral.  Also,  the  statue  of  John  Knox, 
whose  memory  the  Scots  love  and  revere,  is  in  the  necropolis, 
and  towers  above  the  toml)s  of  many  of  earth's  great  men. 

The  river  is  filled  with  shipping  of  all  kinds;  there  are 
deafening  sounds  from  places  where  there  are  in  process  of 
construction  shii)s  in  every  stage  of  advancement.  It  was  in 
Glasgow  that  Watt  first  demonstrated  that  steam  could  be 
used  as  a  motive  power,  and  here  the  first  steamer  in  Europe 
was  launched. 

The  trip  from  Glasgow  to  Oban,  through  the  Crinan  canal, 
to  the  islands  of  Staffa  and  lona,  was  delightful;  the  weather, 
so  often  capricious,  was  charming;  islands,  lochs,  bays,  and 
inlets  were  at  every  turn,  rugged,  bleak,  lofty,  soft,  and  fair. 

Staffa  is  a  conglomeration  of  l)asaltic  columns  like  the 
Giant's  Causeway.  Here  I  saw  the  noted  cave  of  Fingal,  richly 
tinted  by  the  light  i)ouring  in.  glorifying  the  columns  in  gor- 
geous tints;  the  moaning  of  spent  waves  rolling  in.  ever  and 
forever,  over  the  low  pillars  are  awe-insi)iring,  and  are  strangely 
disturl»ing.  There  were  strange,  echoing  sounds,  as  of  harps, 
among  the  rocks;  the  hum  of  songs  in  the  woods,  moans  and 
sighs.  Was  it  Fingal's  song  of  mourning  over  Moina  ?  Odd 
bits  and  sentences  from  (^ssian  came  to  me:  "My  soul  melted 
away  in  the  sounds";  •'The  white  waves  tremble  ui)on  the 
rocks";    "•There    is    a    murmur  in  the  heath";    "■  Like  the    last 

28 


Scotland.  31 

sound  of  the  wind,  when  it  forsakes  the  wood."  The  ])hice  is 
alluring,  but  I  must  not  tarry. 

After  this  we  went  to  the  island  of  lona,  a  few  miles  farther  on. 
This  was  formerly  the  burial-place  of  Scottish  kings.  Mac- 
beth and  his  victim,  Duncan  I,  were  interred  here,  and  in  St. 
Mary's  Cathedral  were  ])uried  many  Lords  of  the  Isles. 

At  Ayr  I  stood  upon  the  ''  twa  brigs "  made  immortal  ))y 
Burns.  I  saw  the  small,  two-roomed  cottage,  and  the  bed  in  a 
curtained  recess,  where  he  was  l)orn.  I  idled  along  the  ])anks 
of  the  bonnie  Doon.  I  saw  the  "auld  l)rig"  of  Tam  (3'Shanter, 
and  "Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk,"  where  Burns's  parents  rest 
'neath  the  sod.  There  is  so  much  to  see  and  enjoy.  A  grate- 
ful people  show  their  regard  for  the  man  who  "made  the 
language  of  his  country  classical."  In  this  vicinity  Burns 
wrote  of  his  "sweet  Highland  Mary,"  and  elevated  the  calling 
of  the  dairymaid  forever  after  in  the  region  — 

"  Where  the  Doon  runs  wimpliu'  clear." 

From  Glasgow  we  went  through  the  Trosachs  and  made  a  tour 
of  the  lakes.  These,  like  Killarney,  have  l)een  so  sung  in  song 
and  story  that  it  were  useless  for  me  to  attempt  a  description.  I 
think  everything  was  at  its  best;  never  was  a  day  so  i)erfect. 
The  sparkle  of  the  waters,  the  rugged  grandeur  of  the  mountain 
slopes,  pleasant  stretches  of  woodland  scenery,  the  varied  greens 
of  larches,  silver  birches,  fir,  and  oaks,  and  the  heath  was  in  the 
glory  of  bloom.  Loch  Katrine,  Ben  Lomond,  Ellen's  Isle,  and 
the  thousand  points  that  spring  up  in  bewildering  array  until 
the  eyes  tire  and  the  senses  are  numbed.  Our  route  was  varied; 
boats  on  the  lakes,  carriage-drives  between  them,  ending  at  Aber- 
foyle,  where  we  took  the  railroad  for  Edinburgh. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  drive  we  were  told  to  look  at  the 
little  square  blocks  of  thin  board  hung  on  the  telegraph  wires. 
The  driver  said  it  was  to  protect  the  grouse,  as  they  flew  and 
were  killed  by  the  wires,  unless  the  little  reminders  were  there  to 
show  them  they  were  to  be  avoided.  I  felt  inclined  to  say  some- 
thing, so  remarked,  "They  are  very  humane  people  here;  thej^ 
protect  the  birds  from  the  wires,  so  they  may  have  the  pleasure 
of  shooting  them."  A  man  in  front  turned,  and  the  look  I  re- 
ceived was  calculated  to  reduce  my  avoirdupois  many   i)ounds 


32  A   Woman's  \\"ani)fi{in(  s. 

per  secoiitl.  I  cau^Mit  my  ln-cath.  and  adtlctl.  "I  nevi-r  hcarcU 
tlioiifrh.  that  a  Scotflinian  could  hit  anything  unless  it  was  sta- 
tionary." Of  course  I  did  not  know  he  was  a  mighty  hunter  of 
l)ir(ls  whtn  I  spoke,  hut  could  not  wither  away  in  a  minute,  so 
had  to  resume  my  air  of  cheerfulness.  I  for  the  moment  had 
forgotten  I  was  in  a  country  where  jokes  were  not  appreciated, 
but  one  must  have  something  besides  scenery.  I  simply  had  to 
be  entertained  in  some  w.iy. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  we  arrived  at  Stirling.  Tlie  sun, 
which  was  dull  and  red  in  a  misty  west  at  8:45,  dyed  the  magnifi- 
cent old  castle  so  far  above  us  on  seemingly  inaccessible  bluffs. 

We  next  arrived  in  Edinburgh,  and  saw  the  old  castle, — 

"  Wliere,  ■watching  lii>.'li  tlie  least  alarms, 
Tliy  1)1)1(1.  rude  fortress  fleams  afar." 

The  old  castle — the  date  of  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  is 
unknown — is  one  of  the  most  interesting  in  all  Europe.  It 
teems  with  romance,  and  historically  is  equally  interesting. 
A  deep,  rocky  ravine  divides  the  city;  this,  now,  is  converted 
into  a  lovely  park,  where  the  people  throng  far  below  the  rush 
and  rumble  of  the  noisy  streets  above.  At  the  head  of  this 
ravine,  perched  upon  the  summit  of  a  precipice,  stands  the  old 
castle,  from  whose  walls  the  magnificent  city  shows  to  good 
advantage.  On  a  former  visit  I  saw  Queen  Victoria,  Prince 
Leopold,  and  Princess  Beatrice.  The  city  was  in  gala  attire, 
of  course.  This  time  the  Prince  of  Wales  honored  the  city, 
and  again  there  was  joy  in  the  "Modern  Athens,"  though  the 
old  city  is  l»eautiful  enough  in  every-day  attire. 

I  went  through  the  historic  old  castle,  where  is  kept  the 
regalia  of  h^cotland,  —  crown,  scepter,  and  sword  of  state.  Many 
of  the  jewels  are  rough  and  uncut,  but  the  loyal  people  are 
satisfied,  for  the  crown  encircled  the  heads  of  Robert  Bruce, 
Queen  Mary,  and  her  son,  James  I. 

I  saw  the  small  room  where  James  was  born.  —  wainscoted 
and  ceiled  with  oak.  A  small  eight-by-eight  room  is  not  our 
idea  of  a  ([Ueen's  bed-chamber,  —  but  that  was  so  long  ago.  I 
looked  down  into  the  dizzy  depths  where  the  child  was  lowered 
and  taken  to  safer  quarters. 

1  left  the  lieights,  going    to   the  palace  of   Holy  rood,  grinnned 


St'OTLAND.  33 

and  marred  with  age.  The  main  ol)iects  of  interest  here,  also, 
center  in  the  rooms  occupied  ])y  the  unfortunate  Mary.  Her 
bedchamber,  kept  as  she  left  it,  is  as  is  the  old  castle,  devoid 
of  comfort  and  convenience.  I  saw  upon  the  floor  the  Ijlood- 
stains  where  Rizzio  was  murdered,  and  the  roofless  choir  where, 
before  the  altar,  Mary  and  Darnley  were  united. 

And  then  I  am  back  in  the  old  St.  Giles  Cathedral,  near 
the  spot  where  John  Knox  is  1)urieil.  See  the  inscription  above 
the  door  of  his  house:  '"Lufe  God  alnif  all,  and  ye  nychtbor 
as  yu'self."  I  wonder  if  the  great  reformer  ever  thought  of 
the  countless  throngs  who  would  read  that  with  loving,  tender 
remembrances  of  him. 

From  the  top  of  Calton  Hill  I  had  one  of  the  finest  views  of 
the  surroundings.  On  one  side  is  the  Firth  of  Forth,  on  the  other 
is  Arthur's  Seat,  and  in  the  distance  are  the  Grampian  Moun- 
tains. There  were  long  piers,  graceful  ships,  green  valleys, 
heather-crowned  hills,  fields  of  barley  and  rye,  with  blue  and  red 
eorn  flowers.  The  whole  effect  was  charming,  making  this,  with- 
out doubt,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places  in  all  of  Scotland. 
I  enjoyed  the  town,  the  country,  and  the  people  —  rugged,  hale, 
and  hearty. 

I  talked  with  an  old  lady  one  day;  she  was  ninety-seven  years 
old,  does  her  work,  washes  and  irons  her  clothes.  No  one  could 
suit  her,  she  said.  '"We  are  not  so  clever  as  you  are,  but  we  are 
content  to  have  less  and  live  longer,"  she  told  me,  and  surely  she 
was  the  very  picture  of  placid  old  age. 

We  spent  one  day  at  Melrose  Abbey  and  Al^botsford.  It 
would  take  pages  to  describe  this  Caledonian  Eden,  —  the  house 
and  grounds  Scott  loved  so  well,  —  or  the  famous  old  Melrose  Ab- 
bey. Every  window,  door,  archway,  every  angle  of  this  exqui- 
site example  of  Gothic  architecture,  is  well  worth  a  careful  sur- 
vey. It  is  fast  cruml)ling,  and  soon  there  will  be  little  left.  A 
gray  stone  marks  the  spot  where  is  the  heart  of  Bruce.  In  an 
opening  in  the  old  wall  above  it  a  little  bird  had  made  its  nest 
and  above  the  dry  grasses  and  twisted  branches  three  little  heads 
lifted  up,  and  with  tender  twitterings  welcomed  the  mother  as 
she  hushed  them  with  her  outspread  wings.  Life  and  hope 
above  the  dead  —  a  promise  of  rest  —  so  we  quietly  left  the 
mother  bird,  the  old  abbey,  and  found  our  way  home,  with  the 
night  around  us. 


IIOLLAXI). 

A  day's  f;iti<riiinK  jovinu'v  l)y  rail,  a  nitrht  on  a  steamer 
fully  as  uncoinfortalile  as  the  ears,  and  the  strip  of  watei* 
between  liarwirh  and  tli<'  Ilixtk  i)f  Holland  is  })assed.  Then 
we  find  ourselves  in  Holhind.  the  (luaint,  the  pieturesque,  the 
curious,  the  land  of  windmills  and  storks,  the  saered  sentry  of 
the  country  I  How  shall  I  tell  of  its  canals,  shaded  by  the 
lindens,  or  tiie  natural  beauty  of  woods,  meadows,  and  winding 
rivers,  of  peaked  gables  and  turrets  —  of  its  buried  cities?  It 
is  bewildering,  and  I  can  only  single  a  few  things  from  the 
kaleidoscopic  array. 

First  of  all  come  the  hotels,  which  we  selected  as  represent- 
ing best  the  life  of  the  Hollanders.  We  did  not  care  to  find 
inns  filled  with  the  rushing  tourists,  but  the  solid,  comfortable 
quarters  the  natives  seek.  One  in  Amsterdam  we  were  charmed 
with.  The  landlady,  a  veritable  ''Tant  Sannie,"  rolling  in  her 
wealth  and  weight,  l)oth  the  accumulation  of  years,  seemed 
delighted  to  honor  us,  showing  us  her  treasures.  The  beauti- 
ful delft  wares  and  rare  old  bits  of  furniture  were  as  unex- 
pected as  they  were  priceless.  Our  rooms  were  marvels  for 
comfort  and  rest.  The  dinners  were  the  best  since  we  left 
New  York,  but  the  breakfast  was  novel,  if  no  more.  There  were 
several  courses  of  raw  meat — ham,  bacon,  smoked  meat  —  but 
not  any  cooked  nor  to  be  had.  We  desired  to  see  life  in  their 
way,  so  we  must  acce})t  it.  We  had  eggs  cooked,  however; 
the  coffee  was  delicious,  the  breail  and  butter  also,  so  there 
was  no  need  of  complaining. 

Amsterdam,  like  Venice,  is  built  on  forests  of  piles.  Its 
population  of  three  hundred  thousand  people,  its  busy  streets, 
and  busier  canals  and  waters,  are  astonishing.  All  kinds  of 
shipping  are  carried  on,  from  the  immense  ocean  liners  to 
barges  and  })leasure-boats  in  every  canal,  and  there  is  one  every 
two  blocks,  teeming  with  life  and  activity.  Boats  are  every- 
where, all  loaded  with  something  or  other,  towed  up  and  down, 
some  by  dogs,  women,  or  men.  Tiie  men  are  mentioned  last, 
for  they  usually  seem    to    shirk    most.      It   is    a    marvel    what 

34 


Holland.  35 

loadi^  the  dogs  pull.  They  are  not  kept  for  the  music  of  their 
voices  here. 

Here,  too,  is  the  dear  old  world  of  painting  and  sculpture,  —  a 
strange  commingling  of  the  past  with  the  present.  In  the  gal- 
leries we  see  the  past  as  Teniers,  Jan  Steen,  and  Rembrandt  saw 
it;  the  busy,  active,  bustling  life  on  the  streets  tell  another  story. 

We  went  to  the  Isle  of  Marken,  up  the  canals  and  locks, 
scarcely  knowing  we  were  being  raised  so  many  feet  at  each 
one.  until  we  found  we  were  on  the  Zuyder  Zee.  Then  we 
realized,  as  we  looked  back  at  the  canals,  how  low  the  lands 
are  we  have  passed  coming  up,  and  understand  the  need  of 
windmills.  There  lie  the  rich  pasture-lands,  once  the  bottom 
of  lakes. 

We  turn  our  eyes  across  the  sea,  and  note  the  soft,  grayish 
blue  of  the  water  and  the  sky;  see  the  wonderful  blending  of 
both.  There  is  no  perceptible  line,  but  earth  and  sky  and  the 
skies  and  seas  seem  blended  together,  and  we  know  why  we 
see  so  much  in  painting;  why  the  softer  blues  are  in  all  their 
works.  It  is  here  forever  before  them,  and  they  love  to  por- 
tray it. 

The  meadows  present  a  busy  sight  now;  the  reapers  are 
everywhere,  in  voluminous  knickerbockers  and  wooden  shoes. 
The  men  cut  the  hay  with  scythes.  I  saw  not  one  single 
mower  in  all  of  Holland  or  that  part  of  Germany  we  passed 
through.  Women  and  children  work  with  the  men  in  the 
fields,  tossing  and  turning  the  hay  and  drying  it  before  stacking. 

We  went  in  raptures  over  the  fields,  where  the  gorgeous 
crimson  poppies  show  a  vivid  red  among  the  green  grasses; 
the  smell  of  red-topped  clover  drying  in  the  fields,  and  the 
comfort-loving  herds  of  Holsteins  browsing  contentedly  on  the 
same  —  each  little  herd  satisfied  with  its  strip,  outlined  by  a 
shallow  canal,  but  each  little  Dutch  Holstein  knowing  its 
patch  is  as  green,  sweet,  and  luscious  as  that  across  the  sil- 
very streak;  so  there  is  no  envying,  no  encroachment,  nor 
longing  for  other  pastures,  but  all  is  so  peaceful,  so  restful, 
in  the  utter  contentment  in  evidence,  one  wonders  if  animals 
imbibe  the  spirit  of  their  owners.     It  may  be  so. 

We  saw  at  Marken  more  of  the  queer  old  costumes  than  any- 
where else.      This  quaint  village  consists  of  fishermen  and  their 


36  A   W'iiman's  W'andkkincs. 

families,  seeminirly  l)elongintr  to  annthcr  ii-ntiuv,  so  dilit'erent 
are  thfv  from  tlu'  people  in  Amsterdam. 

We  were  at  Edam,  also,  and  saw  them  makini:  tin-  (t'li-ltrated 
cheese,  which,  by  the  way.  was  as  costly  almost  as  if  bought 
in  America. 

We  wondered  at  the  «:rtat  Dyke  of  Helder  as  we  loitered  on 
the  broad  path  and  saw  the  great,  gray  expanse  of  water 
surging  up  the  sloping  sides.  Looking  on  the  town  and  country 
behind  and  many  feet  l)elow  the  water-level,  we  know  what  it 
all  means;  how  the  people  have  triumphed,  and  even  when 
winter's  storms  l)ring  the  waters  of  the  North  Sea  in  fury 
against  the  granite  walls,  they  rejoice  in  their  triumph  over 
this  natural  enemy. 

All  along  the  canals  we  noticed  the  women  doing  the  work 
of  horses.  One,  with  her  hus))and,  harnessed,  and  walking  tan- 
dem, she  in  front,  leading  a  child,  l)ent  double  with  the  burden, 
pulling  a  heavily  laden  barge,  was  a  sight  not  to  he  forgotten. 
Were  I  a  poet,  the  Woman  and  the  Yoke  might  l)e  a  theme 
equally  as  pathetic  as  '"The  Man  with  tlie  Hoe,"  ))ut  I  am  not 
Markham,  nor  a  painter,  else  I  miglit  portray  it  as  I  saw  it. 

At  The  Hague  we  were  suri)rised  at  the  l)usy.  up-to-date  life 
of  the  sweet,  clean,  pretty  city.  It  seems  as  if  everything  is 
fresh  and  charming;  freshly  i)ainted  doors  and  windows,  rows 
and  rows  of  the  neatest  of  little  1  tricks.  How  they  love  and 
honor  their  young  ruler.  \\'illnlniina  ! 

In  this  gay  little  city  we  saw  the  latest  fashions  from  Paris; 
better-dressed  women  than  in  London.  Upon  the  streets,  in 
more  quiet  places,  we  saw  women  in  queer  white-lace  head- 
gear, often  topped  with  a  little  dress-l)onnet  of  the  present 
day.  Tliey  cannot  all  at  once  get  rid  of  the  old  style,  but 
are  keejung  along  the  line  of  progression  l)y  putting  on  a 
l)onnet.  It  is  a  pity;  soon  there  will  be  l)ut  little  of  the 
old  picturesque  loveliness  left  of  Holland. 

We  saw  the  beauty  of  the  tree-lined  canals;  the  stately  houses, 
with  flowers  everywhere,  in  windows  and  gardens,  trailing  over 
walls,  a  wealth  of  bloom  running  riot  in  tlie  cool  woods,  with 
paths  and  seats  every  few  yards,  and  people  everywhere  enjoy- 
ing the  outdoor  life.  How  we  watched  the  chul)l)y  children;  they 
were  so  full  of  life  an<l  health,  that  it  was  a  jdcasure  to  see  them. 


Holla  Ni).  37 

From  the  lu'w,  buisy  life  we  turned  to  the  galleries,  wherein  we 
saw  some  of  the  finest  specimens  of  tlie  Duteh  seht)ol  of  painting, 
—  the  worlvs  of  Jan  Steen,  Holland's  Hogarth;  his  life  of  the 
carousals  of  the  V)oers,  the  genius  of  the  painstaking  Dow,  Van- 
der  Heist,  and  Remln-andt.  We  looked  in  vain  for  a  painting  by 
the  latter, — his  anatomical  study,  —  but  a  custodian  informed  us 
we  could  not  see  it,  as  it  had  been  removed  for  repairs.  What- 
ever was  wrong  with  the  anatomical  portion  we  know  not.  I 
trust  it  will  be  satisfactory  to  those  who  see  it  when  it  is 
renewed.     Rembrantlt  will   not  know  —  so  what  does  it  matter? 

We  drove  to  the  House  in  the  Woods,  the  Queen's  summer 
palace,  and  where  the  Peace  Commission  met.  It  has  beautiful 
woods  around  it,  and  there  are  the  omnipresent  waterways, 
not  overly  sweet,  for  the  waters  move  sluggishly,  and  they  are 
full  of  water-lilies.  The  clouds  are  mirrored  in  the  depths, 
and  the  trees  bend  lovingly  overhead;  the  fishermen  sit  idly, 
holding  their  rods,  or  prop  them  up  and  nod  in  quiet  unison 
with  the  lily  leaves,  swaying  gently.  No  better  place  in  all 
the  world,  I  thought,  for  a  meeting  such  as  convened  there. 
Will  it  be  all  for  naught  ?     I  trust  not. 

We  rode  to  Scheveningen,  the  fashionable  watering-place  of 
The  Hague,  on  an  electric  car,  through  an  avenue  that  for 
six  miles  was  lined  with  trees  whose  boughs  met  and  formed 
a  delightful  shade. 

A  novel  sight  greeted  us  when  we  went  to  the  beach, — long 
rows  of  neat  little  tents,  furnished  with  chairs  and  tables  for 
luncheons;  the  usual  stalls  for  refreshments;  countless  hooded 
wicker  chairs  for  people,  who  sit  in  them,  well  sheltered  from 
wind  and  sun,  chatting,  sewing,  reading,  thoroughly  enjoying 
life,  as  they  know  so  well  how  to  do  over  here. 

There  w^ere  num])erless  bathing-machines  drawn  up  on  the 
beach.  One  steps  into  a  room,  and,  while  disrobing,  is  drawn  by 
a  horse  into  the  shallow  water.  The  bather  plunges  in,  and,  when 
ready,  steps  into  the  little  house  on  wheels,  is  pulled  up  to  the 
dry  sands,  and  soon  emerges,  having  enjoyed  a  bath  with  almost 
as  much  privacy  as  if  at  home,  and  with  no  wear  and  tear  of 
nerves  from  curious  onlookers. 

Leyden  is  so  closely  interwoven  with  the  memorable  siege  that 
I    will    only   mention    it.     Those  who    have    read  of   the   lirave 


38 


A   \\'t).M.\.\'s   W'andkkim 


Imrghers  who  licnticilly  held  out  for  four  months,  starvinji.  yet 
stanch,  dying  l>y  thousand^;,  yet  never  faltering;  not  men  only, 
))Ut  women  and  children,  will  think  of  them  with  tender  memo- 
ries, as  we  did;  also,  of  the  storm  that  saved  these  starving,  plague- 
stricken  i)eople  from  the  S{)anish  hosts.  The  same  simple  folk 
are  seen  in  the  half-deserted  streets,  and  still  they  return  thanks 
for  deliverance,  as  did  those  after  the  memorable  sietrc 


sw^**- 


THK    Hdl.-K    !N    TUl'.    WOODS. 


DENMARK,    NORWAY,    AND    SWEDEN. 

After  leaving  Holland  we  rested  a  few  days  in  Hamburg,  en- 
joying hours  in  the  '"  Alten  Weg,"  a  lovely  walk,  shaded  by  linden 
trees,  and  driving  in  the  city  and  suburl)S.  There  were  magnifi- 
cent residences  almost  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  trees,  shrubs,  and 
beautiful  flowers.  Going  on  the  i-ars  for  a  short  distance,  then 
Kiel  was  reached,  and  we  were  steaming  out  of  the  harbor,  and 
away  across  the  Baltic  for  Copenhagen. 

Some  guide-l)Ooks  had  informed  us  we  need  not  expect  to  find 
call-drivers,  porters,  stewards,  or  waiters,  after  leaving  Kiel,  to 
understand  a  word  of  English,  French,  or  German,  —  rather  dis- 
couraging, l)Ut  we  were  not  to  be  frightened  away  from  the 
Nbrseland.  The  system  of  serving  taJ)Jr  d'hote  dinners  on  l)oats 
and  in  hotels  would  insure  immunity  from  starvation.  If  the 
exigencies  demanded,  we  were  two  who  could  face  an  army  of 
servants  in  any  hotel,  and  would  take  chances  on  the  breakfasts. 

I  knew  there  were  two  homesick  wanderers,  for  an  hour  or  more 
when  the  train  stopped  in  Denmark's  capital.  A  porter  captured 
our  luggage.  We  named  the  hotel;  he  liowed,  and  disappeared  in 
the  crowd.  We  tried  to  find  him,  in  vain.  The  throng  soon  left 
the  station;  we  were  brave,  and  uncomplainingly  set  out  to  find 
the  hotel,  yet  with  troubled  hearts,  for  we  did  not  know  if  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  our  bags  again  would  be  ours.  We  found  the 
hotel,  and  a  concierge,  whose  vocabulary,  so  far  as  we  understood 
him,  were  about  three  words  each  of  the  three  languages  just 
mentioned.  At  any  rate,  we  understood  that  dinner  would  be 
served  soon,  h_  la  carte;  that  we  must  walk  up  to  our  rooms  on  the 
fourth  floor;  all  of  which  consumed  some  time.  When  we  en- 
tered, our  luggage  was  in  conspicuous  places  al)Out  the  large 
room;  two  dainty  beds,  an  equally  dainty  maid  turning  down 
the  sheets,  who  insisted,  by  pantomime,  in  helping  us  unpack. 
Everything  seemed  easy  after  that,  and  we  had  many  a  laugh, 
later,  over  the  lonely,  lost  sort  of  feelings  which  neither  would 
acknowledge  at  the  time.  It  is  wonderful  what  may  l»e  accom- 
plished by  signs.  I  know  we  slept  well  in  the  hotel,  which  once 
had  been  a  palace;  which,  too,  was  unlike  any  hotel  I  had  ever 
seen,  and  that  without  guide  or  courier  we  traveled  wheresoever 

39 


40 


A    Woman's  WANDKHixfis: 


we  wishcil,  as  indifferent,  alter  that  first  experience,  as  if  we  were 
in  our  own  country. 

At  the  outset  we  had  decided  not  to  worry  over  anything  that 
might  seem  to  go  wrong,  to  have  an  al»iding  faith  in  our  own 
resources  and  each  other.  It  proved  a  wonderful  source  of  com- 
fort.    If  we  had  the  faintest  doubt  as  to  tlie  result  of  any  scheme 


oi.i)  N(iK\vi:(ii.\N  cnriuH. 


projxised.  it  was   n<'ver  mentioned   until   the  mentioning  was  un- 
necessary. 

We  were  surprised  at  the  castles,  i)alaces,  and  extensive  parks 
and  electric  cars.  I  try  now  to  recall  some  words  in  bold  letters, 
such  as  ''Kocsirendeziikuel,"  '* Vegallomasokon,"  and  "Nicht- 
hinoi-esbengen."  which  might  mean  anything;   but  probably  said, 


Denmark,  Norway,  and  Swkden.  41 

"Do  not  spit  iipiui  the  floor,''  and  •"  (let  oft'  only  when  we  ehoose 
to  stop,"  —  this  Ixnng  the  rule,  invariably,  east  of  the  Atlantic. 
The  cars  have  their  stopinng-places;  neither  conductors  nor  motor- 
men  become  crossed-eyed  looking  out  for  passengers  in  the  Old 
World.  It  is  pretty  hard  on  ignorant,  footsore  travelers  to  walk 
blocks  in  order  to  find  a  stopping-place  to  board  a  car,  which 
goes  by  the  desired  place,  perhaps  one  Idock  away,  if  one  does 
not  know  the  town  or  street;  or  to  be  carried  a  numl)er  of  blocks 
in  another  direction  than  the  one  desired.  All  these  things  as- 
tonish me,  for  in  our  country  street-cars  are  supposed  to  run  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  pul)lic;  here  the  })ul)lic  gratefully  con- 
tribute pennies  for  the  pleasure  of  riding  an  extra  l)lock  or  two, 
though  they  know  they  must  walk  back. 

Norway  has  been  a  succession  of  surprises  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end.  I  was  astonished  to  see  the  advanced  state  of  civili- 
zation. We  have  heard  of  the  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun,  the 
Land  of  Foss  and  Fell,  of  lovely  valleys  and  fertile  plains,  and 
think  mostly  of  these  in  reading  of  Norway.  I  was  not  quite 
prepared  to  see  the  telephones  at  every  turn,  and  at  less  than  half 
the  price  at  home.  I  saw  here  the  speaking  and  ear  trumpet 
coml)ined  into  one,  attached  to  a  long  cord  moved  and  used  so 
much  more  easily  than  those  we  are  accustomed  to  use.  I  saw  a 
girl  in  a  dainty  pink  gow^n,  sitting  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with 
an  instrument  pressed  to  her  ear,  saying  something  at  the  other 
part  of  the  curious  apparatus.  It  w^as  some  time  before  I  knew 
that  it  was  the  up-to-date  '"hello  girl,"  away  up  here  in  the  land 
of  the  vikings. 

Their  telegraphic  system  is  perfect,  and  is  universal  all  over 
the  country,  even  throughout  the  less-frequented  mountain  re- 
gions. A  message  of  ten  words  may  be  sent-  to  any  part  of  Nor- 
way for  twelve  and  a  half  cents.  Boys  deliver  messages  on 
wheels.  Automobile  carts  carry  packages  from  firms  to  purchas- 
ers. I  fancy  there  are  no  better  cyclists  in  the  world  than  those 
we  saw  through  the  country.  The  hills  seem  nothing  to  either 
men  or  women. 

The  hay  and  grain  crops  were  being  harvested  in  all  the  larger 
fields  by  American  reapers,  —  very  different  from  the  slow  style 
of  cutting  with  a  scythe,  as  they  were  in  Holland.  They  have 
an  odd  way  of  drying  the  hay.     They  put  up  long  lines  of  posts 


42  A   Woman's   Wandkhinos. 

with  wires  or  poles  att:ichetl.  The  hay  is  strung  on  the  wires, 
mueli  as  clothes  are  on  a  line  and  left  to  dry  in  the  sun. 

I  wondered  greatly,  in  going  through  the  different  fiords,  at  the 
number  of  wires  strung  from  the  high  mountains  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  until  I  found  out  that  they  were  used  to  conve}'  hay 
grown  on  the  level  i)lateaus  al)Ove  to  the  little  valleys  ])eIow, 
that  it  might  dry  and  then  l)e  transported  l)}'  boats  at  will.  I 
could  not  understand  how  it  was  done,  but  two  little  boys  at 
play  near  a  landing  gave  me  an  idea.  They  tied  a  string  to  the 
top  of  a  small  boulder,  attached  it  to  the  ground  a  few  feet  <lis- 
tant,  tied  up  a  few  wisps  of  grass,  fastened  a  wire  to  each,  bent 
one  end  of  the  wire,  i)Ut  the  hook  over  the  string,  and  the  boy  on 
the  to})  of  the  rock  sent  the  grass  to  the  l>oy  in  the  valley.  It 
was  mimic  piny,  yet  real  enough  to  understand.  The  herds  are 
driven  to  the  higher  altitudes  in  summer,  and  the  butter,  milk, 
and  cheese  are  sent  down  in  the  same  manner,  —  an  easy  mode 
of  transportation. 

I  want  to  do  justice  to  each  and  every  country  of  which  1 
write,  so  I  advise  all  who  come  up  here,  if  they  have  a  desire  to 
travel  by  night,  not  to  do  it.  I  shall  never  forget  my  experience 
in  the  sleeping-cars  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It  was  between 
Copenhagen  and  Christiania.  Besides,  we  were  curious  to  know 
what  they  were  like,  and  we  w^ere  satisfied.  There  are  no  mat- 
tresses, and  the  seats  have  sheets  and  a  l)lanket  spread  over  them; 
you  get  a  cushion  for  a  pillow,  and  the  bed  is  made.  The  whole 
train  was  thus  prepared  while  we  enjoyed  a  twenty-minute  din- 
ner. There  is  l)Ut  one  toilet-room  to  each  car,  possessing,  as  a 
rule,  no  water,  towels,  or  mirrors, —  nothing  whatever  for  com- 
fort; so  there  is  no  need  of  extra  rooms. 

The  resources  one  is  capal)le  of  can  never  Ik-  known  until  tested, 
but  we  survived,  and  arrived  at  Christiania.  feeling  well  enough  to 
enjoy  our  first  glimpse  of  the  city.  It  was  so  beautiful  that  we 
were  captivated  at  once.  As  the  train  sped  along  the  sloping  hills 
surrounding  a  portion  of  the  city,  we  had  a  magnificent  view  of 
the  i)icturesque  valley  and  the  fiord,  —  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water, 
dotted  everywhere  ])y  islands.  The  water  is  crisp,  liright,  and 
sparkling,  with  a  smell  of  the  salt  seas,  sixty  miles  distant, 
mingling  with  the  odors  of  the  pine  and  si>ruce  trees,  ^^'e  en- 
joyed our  stay,  as  there  was  nnich  of  interest  at  every  turn.     We 


DkNMAHK,     NcRWAY,    AM)    SWKDKN. 


43 


visited  some  of  the  old  churches  and  cottages  re})resenting  the 
old  Norwegian  life  from  the  viking  period. 

From  HolemskoUen,  a  resort  some  seventeen  hundred  feet 
above  the  city  and  reached  by  electric  cars,  we  found  out  much 
in  regard  to  the  way  people  enjoy  themselves.  The  M'ealthy 
class  build  cozy  summer  homes  on  the  sloping  sides  of  the 
mountains,  and  revel  in  the  delightful  air.  The  cities  and  l)ath- 
ing-resorts  found  evervwhere  about  the  lake  are  easilv  reached 


THE    OLD   VIKING    SHIP. 


by  the  cars.  The  })eople  literally  live  out  of  doors.  There  are 
restaurants  everywhere.  The  popular  l)athing-hours  are  from 
six  to  eight  in  the  evening.  The  waters  are  warm.  th(^  air  balmy 
and  mild,  and  the  people  seem  to  stay  up  all  night.  Tlieir  sum- 
mer is  short,  so  they  try  to  enjoy  every  moment.  Countless  ))oats 
constantly  ply  the  waters,  tilled  with  people.  Bands  of  music 
are  numerous.  Roads  and  woods  are  alive  with  pleas^ure-seekers, 
whole  families    enjoying  life  to  the  fullest.      It   was  a  i)eaceful, 


44  A   Woman's   \\'a.\T)Ehin<;s. 

liajipy.  restful  time.  and.  thoUL'li  we  were  strantrers,  and  alone, 
we  felt  the  influence,  and  it  did  us  good. 

We  visited  the  King's  villa,  prettily  situated  on  a  wooded 
knoll,  and  were  allowed,  with  many  others,  to  wander  at  will 
through  the  rooms,  filled  with  articdes  of  marV)le,  bronze,  china, 
paintings,  etc.  Surely  the  people  are  to  be  trusted.  Nothing 
was  locked.  A  request  not  to  handle  was  obeyed  to  the  letter. 
When  the  swarms  of  relic-hunters  come  here,  I  wonder  if  the 
law  of  order  and  decency  will  be  so  well  observed. 

\N't'  visited  the  old  viking  ship,  the  model  of  which  I  saw  at 
the  Chicago  Exposition.  It  was  so  torn  and  old,  it  must  have 
been  a  task  to  reproduce  it.  We  saw  the  bones  of  the  old  chief 
found  in  it,  and  thought  it  a  pity,  even  though  in  the  interest 
of  science,  the  remains  could  not  have  been  left  as  they  were 
found.  My  mind  w'andered  back  to  that  grand  burial  scene  a 
thousand  years  ago,  of  the  voyages  the  chief  had  made  in  this 
boat.  Perhaps  he  was  one  of  the  discoverers  of  America.  He 
may  have  known  and  found  it  long  before  Columbus  rediscovered 
it.  At  least,  in  his  w'anderings,  he  had  brought  back  a  peacock, 
then  unknown  here,  and  though  horses  and  dogs  were  slain  and 
buried  with  him  with  precious  stuffs,  the  bird  alone  w'as  placed 
in  the  ship  and  sealed  up  with  him  in  the  sepulcher.  There  is 
something  so  beautiful  and  touching  in  the  th(night  of  his  desire 
to  l»e  l)uried  in  the  stanch  old  oaken  ship,  his  oars  and  chief- 
tain's chair  with  him,  and  the  prow  pointing  seawanl.  all  in  readi- 
ness for  Odin's  call  to  sail  out  and  away  on  the  beautiful  sea.  A 
wave  of  infinite  regret  thrilled  me  that  it  was  all  for  naught.  An 
old  shed  holds  the  h<K\t,  the  museum  the  bones,  and  so  the  restless 
world  moves,  for  it  is  all  done  in  the  intei-est  of  science.  Who 
shall  gain  say  it? 

We  Went  liy  rail  from  Christiania  to  Skein,  choosing  this  route 
that  we  might  go  U])  the  locks,  the  grandest,  the  most  stupendous, 
we  were  told,  in  Europe.  There  were  sixteen  in  number,  I  think. 
I  only  know  we  took  the  steamer  and  sailed  on  peacefully  for  a 
time  until  we  came  to  them,  and,  looking  up  the  hills  at  a  series 
of  steps  could  not  Vielieve  our  l)oat  had  to  go  that  way.  It  was 
only  after  l)eing  raised  from  one  to  another,  a  distance  of  one 
hundred  and  seventy-eight  feet,  that  I  could  realize  something  of 
the  undertaking.     They  are  blasted  out  of  solid  rock  and  faced 


Dexmai^k.   Xokwav.  AM)  Sweden. 


45 


with  heavy  stone.  It  looked  fri.^htful  to  see  the  territie  rush  of 
waters,  as  we  passed  from  one  to  the  other.  One  could  not  help 
but  shudder  while  the  raging  blue-green  water  of  the  Vrangfos, 
confined  deep  within  the  narrow  gorge,  dashed  with  tremendous 
force  against  the  gates.  Many  got  off  the  boat  and  walked  up 
the  steep  pathway.  We  stood  by  the  captain  and  the  ship,  saw 
all  the  wonderful  mechanism,  and  are  alive  to  tell  the  story. 


BAXDAK  CAXAL  AND  VRANGFOS. 


After  the  locks,  we  went  on  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  winding 
through  lakes,  through  narrow^  passes  where  the  steamer  barely 
had  room  to  turn.  There  w^ere  islands  every w'here,  clothed  in 
verdure  to  the  very  water's  lirim. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  stopped  at  a  freight  sta- 
tion. I  wondered  wdiy  the  moon  had  not  shown  up.  h^ome  one 
spoke,  and  I  turned  and  saw  above  the  hills  a  })art  of  the  big 
round  globe  peering  through  the  dusky  trees  crowning  the  heights" 
A  few  rays  of  silvery  light  gleamed  on  the  lake.     The    darkness 


46  A  Woman's  Wanderinos. 

was  mellowed  off  into  soft  shades.  A  dreamy  silence  hung  about 
us  as  we  looked  and  waited  in  utter  astonishment.  Something 
was  wrong  with  the  moon  that  night.  For  a  minute  or  two  we 
saw  her  peep  through  the  forest,  then  sink  hack  while  we  waited 
vainly  for  the  reapi)earance;  but  no,  so  low  she  hung  in  the 
heavens,  that,  veering  westward,  the  hills  shut  her  from  view,  and 
we  went  on  in  the  stillness  of  night,  feeling  that  a  sight  of  the 
midnight  sun  could  not  have  impressed  us  as  did  that  solemn 
moment  when  day  and  night  were  wedded. 

An  opaline  light  that  had  the  radiance  of  early  dawn,  with  the 
deeper  shades  of  night  mixed  and  intermingled  into  such  wonder- 
ful beauty  resting  on  the  mountain  tops,  touched  my  soul,  dim- 
ming my  eyes,  like  some  tender,  wailing  notes  that  had  come  to 
me  away  off  here,  in  this  strange  Norseland,  from  the  heart  of 
an  organ  in  an  old  church,  a  day  or  so  previous.  Some  one  had 
strayed  into  the  quiet  place,  and  the  music  that  made  the  heart- 
strings quiver  was  the  sweetest,  yet  most  pathetic,  a  wanderer  in 
far-away  places  could  ever  hear  —  the  sobbing  melody  of  "Home, 
Sweet  Home." 

Then,  as  now,  words  were  inailequate  to  describe  the  loveliness, 
as  we  sail  on  in  silence  until  we  arrive  at  Dalen,  near  midnight, 
which  was  no  night.  Even  though  the  moon  failed  to  reappear, 
it  was  not  needed,  for  the  evening's  light  shone  through  the  drawn 
curtains  ere  sleep  stole  my  weary  senses,  but  the  recollections  and 
strangeness  of  those  hours  will  not  forsake  me. 

We  had  taken  circular  tickets  through  the  Telemarkcn  district 
from  Christiania,  but  after  arriving  at  Dalen  found  we  would 
have  to  retrace  our  journey  through  the  locks.  Going  backward 
or  retracing  steps  was  not  to  our  liking  when  so  much  unseen 
was  beckoning  us  on.  Therefore,  we  decided  on  tlic  chances  of 
getting  a  rebate  on  our  tickets,  and  in  half  an  hour's  time  liad 
completed  all  arrangements  for  a  three  days'  drive  over  the  Hau- 
kelid  Mountains  and  on  to  the  Hardranger  Fiord.  We  secured 
a  native  vehicle  —  the  Stolksjaerre,  a  horse  and  Skydsgut,  mean- 
ing the  driver — and  were  ready  for  unknown  regions.  The  idea 
of  starting  with  one  horse  alarmed  me  somewhat,  l)ut  the  pro- 
prietor said,  "You  have  one  of  the  best  horses  we  have."  As  we 
had  made  up  our  minds  to  go  after  every  one  else,  and  all  the 
vchich's  but  this  was  engaged  and  gone,  we  were  not  to  be  de- 


Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden. 


47 


terred,  so  wo  stiirte;!,  with  our  driver  seated  behind,  the  lines 
between  us.  It  was  the  very  queerest  outfit  we  had  ever  seen. 
The  brakes,  instead  of  being  in  front  of  the  wheels,  were  at  the 
rear.  There  were  no  traces,  the  vehicle  being  pulled  by  the 
shafts.     I  should  have  to  know  more  about  harness,  as  i)lanned 


iN    KOAD    NEAK    ToKKA    lilVlOi;. 


and  ])uilt  in  Norway,  to  say  more.  Our  driver  was  a  lad  of 
eighteen  years,  perhaps,  who  knew  two  words  we  could  under- 
stand.    He  knew  more  before  the  journey  was  finished. 

We  left  Dalen  for  Odde,  with  no  knowledge  of  what  we  were 
to  undergo.  There  must  have  been  something  in  the  air.  The 
spirit  of  the  old  vikings  inspired  us,  perhaps,  and  the  end  justi- 


48  A   Woman's  \\'am)i:kin(;s. 

fied  the  undertaking.  There  could  never  have  ln-cn  more  perfect 
days,  or  days  of  wonder  and  delight.  We  had  heard  it  was  safe 
to  travel  and  well  worth  all  the  trouble,  and  so  we  found  it. 

Immediately  after  leaving  Dalen,  we  entered  the  gorge  of  the 
Tokka  River  and  hegan  the  ascent  of  the  mountains.  All  of 
that  day  we  went  onward  and  upward,  a  succession  of  most 
magnificent  views  unfolding  at  every  turn.  There  were  alirujjt 
declivities,  awe-inspiring  precipices,  the  great  river  pent  \\\)  in 
narrow,  rocky  channels,  one  mass  of  foam  spanned  with  rain- 
bows, or  falling  from  tremendous  height  one  solid  sheet  of 
pure,  bright  water.  Then  it  would  be  lost  in  some  deep,  Idue 
lake,  only  to  reappear  as  we  went  on,  vigorous  and  headstrong 
as  ever.  Where  could  all  this  vast  water  come  from?  We 
knew  later  on.  Our  stunly,  stocky  horse  went  on  easily  over 
high  grades  on  a  road  that  was  a  dream  as  it  went  zigzagging 
over  the  hills,  following  the  river,  a  smooth  white  line,  no 
dust,  no  stones  or  ruts.  It  was  more  like  a  sanded  floor  than 
a  mountain  road.  The  driver  paused  on  a  steep  grade  and 
made  his  speech.  "  Valkin?  Oh,  yaas!  "  The  intonations  were 
so  musical,  pleadin-j;.  and  full  of  pathos,  looking  from  us  to 
the  beast.  It  would  have  put  new  life  in  the  legs  of  a  centena- 
rian. So  we  obeyed  cheerfully  when  asked,— in  fact,  often  got 
out  and  walked  for  the  pleasure  of  it  when  not  necessary. 

Our  start  was  made  so  late  in  the  day.  that  it  was  four 
o'clock  before  we  reached  Borte  for  luncheon.  We  were  upon 
the  verge  of  starvation.  A  piece  of  bread  and  an  egg  was  not 
a  very  hearty  breakfast.  Our  driver  walked  nearly  the  whole 
distance  and  gathered  wild  strawberries,  which  rather  increased 
the  i)angs  of  hunger.  He  culled  sweet  wayside  flowers  for  us 
and  (lid  all  in  liis  jiower  to  make  the  day  one  of  jileasure. 

Now  and  then  we  })assed  a  few  Norwegian  huts  which  at- 
tracted our  attention.  They  were  l>uilt  of  logs,  the  roofs  covered 
with  sod,  which  is  placed  upon  ])ieces  of  l)irch-bark.  Small 
trees  grow  on  some,  and  grass  and  waving  grain  covered  them 
all;  truly  roof-gardening  in  nature's  own  way. 

I  tried  to  make  the  lad  understand  that  starvation's  pangs 
assailed  me,  endeavored  to  have  him  go  and  ask  for  "  brod,"  but 
lie  would  not  hear,  always  and  ever  the  word  "  Biirte  "  came; 
whether  tlie  unknown   place  was  at  the  end  of  the  ou'j  hundred 


Denmakk,  Norway,  and  Swkdrn.  49 

miles,  or  if  we  iiacl  been  Itrought  uj)  there  to  perisli  from  hunger, 
I  knew  not.  At  hist,  as  hope  died  away,  a  house  or  two  at  the 
upper  end  of  a  long  lake  we  were  skirting  blessed  our  eyes. 
"  Borte,"  with  a  glad  wave  of  his  hand.  "Brod?"  I  gasped. 
"  Yaas."     And  never  was  a  meal  more  thoroughly  enjoyed. 

After  a  rest  we  resumed  our  journey  along  the  pretty  BiJrte- 
vand  lakes  for  some  distance,  then  up  steeper  grades,  until  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening  we  stopped  at  Grungedal.  We  dined  and 
retired,  but  the  sun  was  still  shining. 

All  of  the  following  day,  as  we  went  on,  the  scenery  became 
more  wild  and  rugged,  the  snow  nearer;  but  the  road  was  always 
the  same — in  the  whole  of  the  one  hundred  and  seventeen  miles 
there  was  not  one  rod  of  it  bad  or  rough  —  and  this  road,  that 
cost  millions  of  dollars,  is  used  for  about  two  months  in  the  year, 
and  all  for  the  accommodation  of  pleasure-seekers. 

We  soon  found  we  were  beyond  the  timber  line,  and  in  the 
region  of  eternal  snow.  The  mountains  seem  crumbling  to 
pieces.  I  never  saw  such  masses  of  rock  tossed  and  tumbled  in 
great  heaps.  All  along  the  road  we  could  see  fresh,  yellow  spots 
where  the  great  flakes  had  recently  broken  from  the  cliffs  and 
were  piled  up  beside  the  road.  At  times  it  seemed  as  if  a  jar 
would  send  others  down,  and  we  would  look  up  in  shuddering 
terror. 

The  first  patch  of  snow  near  the  road  inspired  me  with  the 
desire  for  a  snowball,  but  as  it  was  not  the  time  for  "  valkin," 
I  was  not  permitted  to  walk.  The  driver  pointed  on,  so  I 
humored  him.  Why  not?  We  saw  he  had  a  big  knife  belted 
on  under  his  coat,  so  were  quite  obedient.  A  few  miles  on,  and 
we  understood,  for  the  snow  lay  in  banks  fifteen  and  twenty  feet 
high  on  either  side  of  the  road.  There  were  immense  fields  of  it, 
with  rivers  gushing  from  tunnels  underneath  them,  looking  as  if 
they  were  ready  to  slide  down  and  engulf  us. 

We  went  on  for  hours  in  this  desolate  region  of  perpetual 
snow,  no  tree  or  shrub  in  sight,  but  a  sort  of  turf  and  green 
grass  showing  in  warm  nooks.  Bleak,  wind-swept  cliffs,  and 
still,  deep  waters,  where  great  cakes  of  ice  and  snow  had  broken 
off  and  floated  like  miniature  icebergs;  there  were  waterfalls 
coming  down  with  tremendous  force  everywhere,  but  always  a 
bridge,  tunnel,  or  culvert  was  made  in  that  marvelous  road  for 


50  A  Woman's  W'andkrings. 

the  streams.  Tlieri*  was  rd  wasliint:  away  or  wet  spots,  save  in 
one  place  the  eml)ryo  glacier  liad  encroached  upon  the  roadl)e<l, 
and  we  walked  for  half  a  niik'  on  smooth,  beaten  snow  and  ice. 

We  loitered  l»y  the  gushing  streams,  and  were  not  interfered 
with,  had  battles  with  snowballs  and  frolicked  to  our  hearts'  con- 
tent, until  the  driver  conceived  the  idea  we  must  take  the  lead. 
We  demurred,  but  to  no  use.  He  took  us  forcibly  l\y  the  arms, 
put  us  in  front  of  the  horse  and  said  his  one  word  again.  80 
we  went  on.  There  was  an  awful-looking  field  of  snow  above 
us.  I  had  seen  it  for  some  time,  also  the  loose  rocks  and  earth, 
showing  a  landslide  on  the  surface  from  the  frowning  cliffs 
overhead.  I  said  to  my  companion,  ''  He  is  either  afraid  and 
wants  us  to  try  it  first,  or  fears  something  might  happen  us  if 
left  behind.  He  could  not  leave  the  horse  to  come  back,  so 
let  us  go  on."  A  sudden  turn  in  the  road,  and  a  wall  of  snow 
and  ice  barred  the  way.  A  path  dimly  outlined  lay  over  it; 
to  the  left,  a  deep  ravine;  to  the  right,  a  hole  leading  in  and 
under  the  snow.  There  was  no  way  to  go  save  in  that  dread- 
ful, dark  tunnel.  We  knew  then  what  the  boy  meant.  Had 
we  been  left  behind  we  would  never  have  tried  it.  He  placed 
our  hands  on  the  back  of  the  vehicle,  said  something  to  the 
horse,  and  in  we  went.  It  was  terril)le  for  a  little  while.  Utter 
darkness  prevailed.  Water  streamed  down  upon  us  and  splashed 
underfoot.  The  opening  was  so  low  we  could  not  have  had 
room  to  sit  ui)right  on  the  seat.  That  was  why  we  had  to  walk, 
or  trot,  rather,  to  keep  up,  for  we  dared  not  loosen  our  grip 
on  that  bar.  Very  soon  light  appeared  and  we  emerged  breath- 
less out  of  that  dreadful  i)lace.  There  were  two  women  who 
were  glad,  our  lauglitcr  rather  forced  for  a  while,  for  it  was 
desolate  and  terrifying  in  the  extreme.  We  were  glad  to  go 
out  in  the  warm  sunshine  —  to  have  the  driver  once  again  in 
his  seat  chirrup  to  the  horse,  to  feel  the  summit  had  been  readied 
and  passed.  Napoleon  crossing  the  Alps!  What  was  that  com- 
pared to  our  experience?  He  had  a  whole  army  to  l)ack  him; 
we  were  alone. 

We  reached  Rlildal  that  night,  going  from  the  wild  Dyrska  r 
Pass  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  The  descent  was  steeper  than 
the  Shasta  route,  winding  })ack  and  forth  much  like  it,  only 
the  road    is    more    tortuous,    winding    around    knolls   in    loops. 


Dknmark,  No'rway.  and  Swedkn. 


51 


We  looked  upward  as  we  neared  the  valley  and  counted  seven 
distinct  roads.  We  could  hardly  believe  it  was  only  the  curves 
in  the  road  we  were  on.  The  driver  stood  upon  the  brake- 
l)ar  all  the  way  down,  while  the  horse  flew  down  that  grade  at 
a  pace  I  should  not  care  to  see  again  or  experience.  Never 
were  hotel,  dinner,  and  bed  more  welcome  than  those  we  found 
at  the  end  of  the  day's  journey. 


TUNNEL   ON   DYESKAR   PASS. 


Soon  after  breakfast  the  next  morning  we  were  on  the  road 
again,  leaving  the  valley  after  a  mile  or  two,  going  up  a  steep 
grade  until  we  were  once  again  among  snow-patches  on  a  high 
plateau.  We  saw  a  large  herd  of  reindeer,  showing  clearly  in 
the  morning  Ught.     The  views  were  magniticent. 


52  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

8oon  the  Folgefoncl  Glacier  apijeared  in  slight.  All  day  it 
was  the  same,  amid  scenery  of  the  grandest,  wildest  character, 
through  narrow  gorges  and  valleys  looking  more  like  gigantic 
clefts,  so  high  were  the  mountains  on  either  side.  Those  same 
peaks  seemed  crumhling  and  ready  to  fall.  I  would  not  attempt 
to  say  how  often  we  held  our  breath  as  we  went  under  some  over- 
hanging rocks  ready  to  tumV)le.  Hamlet  said  something  about 
rottenness  in  Denmark.  He  would  have  made  it  certain  if  he 
had  said  Norway,  and  referred  to  the  mountains.  They  seem 
literally  crumbling  to  pieces. 

I  feel  the  poverty  of  words  in  trying  to  describe  the  remainder 
of  the  day's  journey  as  we  went  by  seething  torrents  and  lakes, 
where  the  road  had  V)een  blasted  out  of  sheer  walls,  where  work- 
men had  to  be  suspended  by  ropes  before  there  was  a  foothold  to 
begin  the  work.  The  rush  and  roar  of  waterfalls  were  ever  in 
our  ears.  Wherever  the  eye  turned  they  poured  from  those  vast 
peaks  and  chasms,  rivaling  Yosemite  in  height,  exceeding  it  in 
volume  of  water.  More  than  a  hundred  which  would  shame 
Vernal  and  Nevada  Falls.  I  only  know  we  were  surfeited  with 
the  grandeur.  Words  failed  us.  The  immensity  of  it  all,  those 
powerful,  rushing  streams,  coming  from  miles  and  miles  of  snow 
lying  on  the  mountain  ranges. 

Nature  claims  kindred  with  the  deeper  mysteries  of  our  souls; 
sympathies  that  lie  too  deep  for  words,  too  deep  almost  for 
thought,  are  touched  at  times,  and  the  resources  of  expression 
fail  me.  I  know  the  pleasure  of  those  three  days  will  never  fade 
from  memory.  The  grand  changes  of  light  and  shade  flowing, 
melting  into  each  other,  over  those  cloud-fringed  towers  and 
snowy  fields,  these,  with  the  scent  of  flowers,  odorous  waysides 
lined  with  feathery  birch  and  pine  trees  that  came  to  us  with  the 
night  —  the  night  that  brought  rest  and  gladness,  glad  the  jour- 
ney was  ended  over  the  Haukelid  range,  that  we  had  passed  it  in 
safety,  and,  more  than  all,  glad  we  had  the  courage  to  undertake 
and  come  through  unscathed  what  very  few,  if  any,  situated  as 
we  were  would  have  dared  to  undertake. 

One  of  our  countrymen  was  thrown  from  a  vehicle  like  ours, 
and  came  in  with  a  broken  arm;  one  carriage  we  passed  was  de- 
tained l)y  a  sick  horse.  In  fact,  we  passed  all  the  people  who 
had  left  Dalen  earlv  on  the  dav  we  started.     Our  stanch  sure- 


Denmark,  Xohwav,  and  Swkden.  53 

footed  pony  had  lirought  us  over  in  safety.  We  pL'tted  and 
l)lessed  the  beast,  bade  good  by  to  the  faithful  boy,  who  was  grate- 
ful to  the  verge  of  tears  for  the  little  present  he  so  richly  deserved; 
for  we  knew  that,  whether  he  had  a  passenger  on  the  return 
trip  or  not,  he  would  have  to  walk  most  of  the  way;  they  work  so 
hard  and  wages  are  light. 

Just  how  we  missed  the  showers  which  came  almost  any  hour, 
how  the  whole  journey,  for  which  we  were  unprepared,  was  made 
without  an  hour's  discomfort  from  Christiania  to  Odde,  can  only 
be  accounted  for  l\v  a  blessed  providence  taking  care  of  two  who 
were  faithful  in  this,  that  we  took  no  heed  of  the  morrow.  Suffi- 
cient unto  the  day  was  the  day  itself. 

From  Odde  we  went  to  Bergen  via  the  Hardranger  Fiord. 
The  Norwegians  never  tire  of  the  name.  Its  glories  are  the 
theme  of  poet  and  suV»ject  of  painter,  and  surely  it  is  well  worth 
all  that  may  be  said  of  it.  In  wildness  and  boldness  it  cannot 
l)e  compared  to  other  portions  we  saw,  but  its  beauties  are  pleas- 
ing; doubly  so,  after  crossing  the  mountain  ranges,  to  lean  back 
in  a  comfortabls  armchair  on  the  deck  of  a  steamer.  Mountains, 
glaciers,  waterfalls,  still,  deep,  solemn  waters  at  one  turn;  at  an- 
other, bright,  cheery,  sparkling  little  valleys  and  villages  along 
the  route;  boats  and  lioating  parties  everywhere.  They  almost 
live  on  the  water  in  the  warm  months. 

We  were  glad  to  arrive  in  Bergen  at  the  end  of  the  long  clay, 
and  rest  from  our  journey  among  the  mountains  and  fiords. 
Bergen  has  her  seven  hills,  which  almost  surround  the  town, 
dotted  with  lovely  homes,  covered  with  forests,  and  are  very 
beautiful.  From  the  summit  of  any  one,  delightful  views  of 
distant  ranges  of  snow-clad  mountains,  lakes,  and  rivers  may  be 
had.  We  found  the  town  very  interesting.  At  the  museum 
were  relics  of  the  Hanseatic  League,  which  for  some  two  hundred 
years  monopolized  the  commerce  of  northern  Europe.  We 
walked  along  the  c^uay,  the  oldest  part  of  the  town,  where,  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  these  Hanseatic  Germans  held  their  own  in  de- 
fiance of  Scandinavian  kings  or  people.  There  is  much  of  its 
antique  character  left,  with  long  lines  of  wooden-gable  ware- 
houses and  quaint-looking  sailing-boats. 

We  saw  a  pretty  custom  at  the  hotel.  The  small  tables  were 
prettily    decorated    with    flowers    and    small    flags    of   different 


54  A  Wom.vn's  W'anderixos. 

nations.  A  waiter  came  as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  and  trium- 
phantly i)l;uvd.the  British  flag  at  our  table.  I  arose  to  a  man 
—  and  he  was  the  man — and  said,  "If  you  value  your  life,  take 
it  away.  1  l»elieve  in  expansion,  certainly.  Bring  the  dinner, 
and  (luickly,  but  not  with  that  emblem."  He  probably  did  not 
understand  one  word  in  ten,  but  his  intuitions  were  right.  He 
had  that  flag  hid,  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes  on  my  table,  before 
I  could  catch  my  breath.  So,  in  order  to  set  things  right,  I 
placed  the  Norwegian  flag  beside  ours.  He  was  delighted  with 
it  and  his  fee.  The  dinner  was  all  that  was  nee<lefl,  so  peace 
reigned  in  Bergen. 

It  was  easy  and  pleasant  enough  going  to  Bergen,  but  getting 
away  was  different.  We  found  there  were  no  railroads  from 
there  to  Christiania.  One  can  scarcely  go  a  mile  in  that  region 
without  encountering  a  lake,  river_,  or  mountain.  I  read  some- 
where that  Norway  consists  of  one  huge  mass  of  mountains  cut 
through  in  all  directions  by  valleys,  gorges,  passes,  water,  and 
glaciers.  Surely  it  is  true,  especially  when  it  refers  to  the  water. 
There  seems  enough  to  supply  the  world,  and  still  have  a  surplus. 

The  easiest  route  for  us  was  a  coasting-steamer,  so  we  started, 
being  informed  it  would  take  forty-eight  hours,  and  that  they 
kept  within  the  barriers  of  islands  the  greater  part  of  the  way. 
so  that  we  need  not  apprehend  seasickness.  We  had  a  fairly 
good  night  and  breakfast  the  next  morning.  Soon  afterwards 
they  put  to  sea,  or  perhaps  the  islands  had  given  out,  for  all  the 
rocking  and  plunging  I  had  ever  known  were  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  this.  The  boat's  prow  was  in  the  water,  and  the  pro- 
peller in  the  air,  or  vice  versa,  half  the  time.  Sick!  well,  it^was 
more  than  that.  Talk  of  responsive  chords,  and  deep  answering 
unto  deep!  That  was  bad  enough,  but  to  have  a  stewardess, 
who  knew  no  language  but  her  own — the  Norwegians  are  not 
quick  to  learn  languages — who  brought  what  she  considered  a 
delicacy,  a  dish  of  fish,  when  we  ordered  a  lemonade,  and  a  glass 
of  their  favorite  ale,  when  we  wanted  tea.  Between  paroxysms 
of  heartrending  upheavals  we  two  would  console  each  other,  and 
consolation  was  needed.  Our  downy  l)eds  were  simply  the  cush- 
ioned seats  of  red  iilusli;  a  safeguanl  against  falling  out  was  a 
thin  stri])  of  cloth  }ila(ed  in  front  and  held  by  a  cord.  The 
most  horrible  of  all  insect-powders,  moth-balls,  had  been  used 


Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden.  57 

lavishly.  The  odor  would  kill  almost  anythin<!;  save  the  moths 
themselves.  Ye  gods!  Seasickness  and  moth-l)alls!  A  future 
life,  anything  that  might  he  my  reward  after  dissolution,  which 
I  rather  yearned  for,  had  no  terrors  for  me  then.  Wherever  the 
place  might  be,  it  was  an  "even  break"  that  I  would  have  com- 
pany, for  the  limp  creature  on  the  other  side  of  the  stateroom 
was  ready  to  stop  at  the  same  station.  We  were  not  anxious 
about  the  temperature.  Conditions  could  be  no  worse.  If  there 
was  no  water,  there  would  l)e  no  waves.     Thus  I  consoled  her. 

Then  we  would  laugh  at  it,  or  try  to,  l)ut  usually  made  a 
flat  failure.  In  an  interim  of  quiet  while  at  a  stopping-place 
we  dressed  and  went  on  deck,  determined  to  stay  in  the  fresh 
air  if  possilile.  Scarcely  had  they  left  the  wharf  l)efore  the  rough 
water  was  reached,  and  the  boat  rolled  so  that  every  one  had 
to  cling  to  something  not  movable.  We  held  on  to  a  heavy 
railing.  A  sudden  lurch,  and  the  boat  went  over  on  her  side. 
I  was  thrown  to  the  outer  railing,  striking  against  the  seat  so 
forcibly  that  I  was  fearfully  In'uised  and  liarely  escaped  having 
a  broken  ankle.  My  companion  was  liadly  shaken  up,  also,  but 
helped  me  down  to  our  stateroom.  Two  sorrowful  women  for 
the  next  two  days  clung  desperately  to  their  l)erths  until 
Christiania  was  reached,  firmly  resolved  that  they  would  never 
again  believe  what  a  ticket  agent  or  guide-book  asserted  was 
the  best  or  only  wa}',  but  realizing  what  portions  of  the  North 
Sea  and  the  Skager  Rack  could  be  when  they  chose  to  be  ugly. 

The  trip  by  rail  from  Christiania  to  Stockholm  was  pleas- 
ant; it  was  good  to  see  the  country  from  car  windows  once  more. 

I  must  mention  a  custom  these  "  Northmen  "  have.  At  the  eat- 
ing stations  there  are  no  waiters  to  serve  the  food.  A  long  table 
is  in  the  center  of  the  room,  containing  the  food,  plates,  etc. 
Each  must  help  himself  as  he  pleases,  sitting  at  small  tallies 
lining  the  sides  of  the  rooms,  or  standing  if  preferred.  There 
is  a  man,  however,  at  times,  to  serve  beer  or  wine,  but  as  a  rule 
the  bottles  are  placed  upon  the  tables  and  it  is  left  to  the  con- 
science of  those  who  drink  to  say  how  much  he  takes.  The 
quantity  of  food  is  unquestioned,  and  it  was  strange  to  see  the 
amount  some  people  ate  in  a  short  time.  The  food  was  always 
good,  well  cooked,  and  cheaper  than  we  found  elsewhere.  They 
must  save  something  by  letting  people  serve  themselves.     There 


58  A   Woman's  WANOKrnNos. 

were  vefjetaMe;:,  salads,  meats  in  huge  platters  prettily  gar- 
nished with  wreaths  of  grape  leaves,  sprays  of  flowers,  and 
maple  leaves.  Coffee  could  be  had  at  a  side-table,  great  dishes 
of  wild  strawberries  or  raspberries  with  pitchers  of  whipped 
cream — a  novelty  at  eating  stations,  certainly,  and  in  no  place 
did  we  find  the  price  to  exceed  fifty  cents  in  our  money 

I  scarcely  know  how  to  descril)e  Stockholm,  the  situation  is 
so  V)eautiful.  It  is  well  understood  that  for  beauty  of  scenery 
and  unique  situation  the  capital  of  Sweden  stands  unrivaled. 
Some  old  ruler,  several  hundred  years  ago,  realizing  wliat  a 
splendid  location  for  a  fortified  city,  said,  ''Since  the  Lord  has 
made  a  gate  at  this  spot,  I  will  put  a  lock  on  it."  So  he  pro- 
ceeded to  build  and  fortify  the  town.  He  was  a  wise  man.  and 
the  lovely  city  sits  enthroned  on  the  everlasting  hills. 

The  wide  expanse  of  water  surrounds  it  and  separates  it  so 
picturesquely  into  islands,  forming  l)ays,  inlets,  and  caves  on  all 
sides.  One  sees  all  manner  of  craft,  from  the  large  steamers  to 
the  small  ferries,  steam-launches,  and  pleasure-boats  of  every 
imaginable  description. 

The  large  lake  of  Malar,  stretching  for  nearly  eiglity  miles 
westward,  empties  into  the  Baltic.  A  short,  rapid  river  runs 
through  the  heart  of  the  city,  keeps  it  sweet  and  clean,  for  it  is  a 
clean  city,  this  capital  of  King  Oscar.  Here,  as  in  Jerusalem  of 
old.  every  man  must  sweep  before  his  own  door,  and  that  l)y 
eight  o'clock  each  morning.  If  he  fails  to  keep  his  premises 
clean,  the  city  does  it  cheerfully  enough,  but  he  must  pay  for  it. 

We  went  through  the  palace,  and  saw,  besides  the  state 
apartments,  what  one  is  unaccustomed  to  be  shown,  the  })rivate 
apartments  of  the  King  and  Queen.  Once  a  week  the  King  re- 
ceives informally,  at  his  palace,  any  and  all  of  his  subjects.  They 
love  and  honor  him,  and  seem  a  contented,  happy  people. 

One  of  the  most  charming  features  of  Stockholm  are  the  parks 
and  tree-lined  streets  throughout  the  city.  Wherever  space  will 
l)ermit,  a  stretch  of  green  grass,  flowers,  and  shrubs  is  to  be  seen, 
with  seats  placed  at  convenient  distances,  where  one  sees  women 
knitting,  caring  for  children,  reading,  or  idling,  as  suits  them  btst. 

There  are  })ublic  playgrounds  for  children,  also,  where  all  sorts 
of  devices  are  i)lace(l  for  their  amusement,  everything  to  make 
life  pleasant    for  those  who  cannot    afford   a  summer    vacation. 


Denmakk,  Nokway,  and  Svvkden.  59 

Tliore  are  free  bathing-plaees,  also,  for  boys  and  girls,  on  certain 
days.  So  much  is  done  for  the  poorer  classes  and  at  so  little 
expense. 

In  regard  to  the  educational  system,  it  is  so  good  that  only  six 
per  cent  of  the  inhabitants  of  Sweden  are  unable  to  read,  while 
in  England  there  are  fourteen  per  cent  who  cannot  read. 

We  enjoyed  our  week  in  Stockholm  greatly.  The  excursions  to 
the  different  watering-places  were  no  less  delightful  than  the 
baths,  finding  beautiful  hotels  and  all  sorts  of  eating-places  in 
unexpected  places,  giving  evidence  of  patronage  that  makes  them 
a  success,  even  though  many  miles  from  the  city.  But  there  are 
swift  means  of  transportation  by  boat,  steam  or  electric  cars. 

Another  Swedish  institution  I  must  speak  of  is  called  "The 
Smorgasbrod" — bread  and  butter  table  —  which  was  of  interest 
to  us.  At  hotels  and  restaurants  a  special  table  is  placed  at  one 
side,  or  in  a  room  adjoining  the  dining-room.  On  this  table  are 
bread  and  butter  and  all  manner  of  sliced  cold  meats,  preserves, 
and  pickled  fish.  The  natives  and  others  who  travel  and  wish  to 
try  it  take  a  plate,  select  what  they  wish  and  eat,  walking  or 
standing  about  the  table  until  satisfied.  But  the  novelty  to  us 
was,  that  while  we  thought  they  preferred  luncheon  to  dinner 
this  was  only  a  preliminary  proceeding — an  appetizer  —  for  they 
would  seat  themselves  at  the  dining-table  and  eat  as  though 
they  had  not  tasted  food  all  day. 

We  went  several  times  to  the  Operakallaren,  the  swell  cafe  in 
the  opera-house,  for  dinner,  not  only  because  the  dinners  were 
the  best  we  could  get,  but  to  observe  the  custom  among  the  bet- 
ter classes,  and  to  try  it  also.  For  myself,  I  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  try  it  often,  if  I  cared  for  my  meals.  Why  should  one 
eat  cold  or  pickled  fish  before  soup,  or  bread,  butter,  cheese,  salad, 
or  omelette  before  beginning  the  real  dinner?  I  noticed  the  men 
took  something  from  faucets,  in  queer-looking  silver  tankards.  I 
thought  they  drank  their  water  from  rather  small  glasses,  until  I 
learned  it  was  Swedish  corn-brandy.  However,  it  was  fun  to  see 
them  crowd  around  the  table,  men  and  women  seeming  to  enjoy 
the  strange  custom,  trying  to  get  up  an  appetite,  but  never  a 
one,  if  I  am  a  judge,  needed  it. 

But  more  than  the  eating,  or  seeing  the  Smorgasbrod  dainty 
eaters,  did  I  enjoy  the  view  from  the  beautiful  frescoed  dining- 


60  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

room.  Across  the  river  was  the  Royal  Palace,  and  the  harl)or 
filled  with  boats  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  terraces  of  l)rick  and 
stone  rising  to  great  height  from  the  water  to  high  cliffs  on  the 
south  side.  Enjoying  the  glorious  twilight  of  the  Northland,  the 
combined  beauties  of  nature  and  art.  the  varying  throngs  pass- 
ing by,  the  splash  of  fountains,  the  tramp  of  soldiers,  music  from 
bands  in  the  Kingsstradgarden — that  was  all  the  ai)petizer  I 
needed,  but  custom  makes  all  the  difference. 

We  feel  thoroughly  satisfied  with  our  visit  in  tiie  Norse  region, 
wondering  at  the  advanced  state  of  civilization,  admiring  the 
picturesque  costumes  of  the  peasants,  a  constant  intermingling  of 
the  old  and  the  new,  but  always  something  of  interest,  some- 
thing to  learn,  to  remember.  We  have  interviewed  the  American 
and  Russian  consuls,  our  passports  have  been  vised,  and  we  are 
now  ready  to  sail  for  Finland  and  Russia,  the  land  of  steppes, 
nihilists,  and  wolves.  May  we  escape  Siberia  and  live  to  tell  of 
our  experience. 


FINLAND. 

We  sailed  from  Stockholm  late  one  afternoon.  The  city 
looked  very  beautiful  as  we  went  on  past?  the  palaces,  towers, 
and  fortifications,  winding  in  and  out  among  islands  so  thickly 
dotting  the  waters  that  navigation  must  be  a  serious  matter 
in  bad  weather,  and  perhaps  at  all  times,  judging  from  the 
number  of  submerged  hulks  and  wrecks  we  saw  in  passing. 
Many  of  the  islands  have  costly  residences,  ranging  down  to 
villas,  toy-like  houses,  and  camps. 

People  swarm  here  in  summer,  and  surely  it  must  be  pleas- 
ant. The  waters  were  alive  with  boats  of  every  description, 
filled  with  people  visiting  from  one  little  green  dot  to  another 
—  or  floating  idly  on  the  smooth  waters.  It  was  dreamland  — 
wonderland — for  it  seemed  unreal  in  the  misty  light  as  the 
sun  set.  The  ruddy  light  gleamed  l)right  on  the  still,  blue 
water  and  across  the  radiant  bars  were  silhouetted  the  myriads 
of  islands,  some  paljntating  with  life,  glowing  in  one  mass  of 
flowers,  lights,  and  all  that  go  to  surround  an  ideal  home;  other 


Finland.  61 

islands  lay  in  the  beauty  of  wildness  and   solitnde,    stretching 
on  in  bewildering  beauty  and  countless  thousands. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  see,  it  was  the  same,  ever  varying, 
ever  new.  We  remained  on  the  deck,  entranced  with  the  beauty 
of  the  evening,  watching  the  colors  fading  from  the  sky,  from 
vivid  hues  to  dusky  yellows;  then  through  a  curious  pall  of 
mist  and  smoke  to  only  dull  gray.  There  were  small  boats  com- 
ing from  the  banks;  at  each  prow  a  dim  light  like  a  glow-worm 
shone,  a  strange  sound  filled  the  air,  a  commingling  of  music, 
of  winds  among  the  trees,  rippling  waters,  as  the  boat  slowly 
glided  past  these  little  punctuation  points  of  the  Baltic  Sea. 
There  was  a  new  moon  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  it  all,  and 
made  it  seem  as  if  Titania  and  all  her  forces  were  out,  and  it 
was  more  like  dream-life  as  the  night  deepened  and  the  slate- 
colored  waves  rolled  away  from  the  prow.  The  shadowy  out- 
lines of  fortresses  and  old  castles  loomed  overhead  as  we  passed 
narrow  channels  whose  perpendicular  banks  rose  from  the  side 
of  the  steamer. 

The  trip  across  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia  to  Finland  was  in  charm- 
ing contrast  to  that  of  the  North  Sea.  We  enjoyed  every 
moment  of  it.  There  was  not  an  hour  of  disagreeable  weather. 
The  sea  was  smooth,  the  air  fresh  and  invigorating,  and  every- 
body felt  well. 

The  amount  of  eating  on  that  boat  was  astonishing.  The 
odd  way  of  serving  the  meals  made  it  hard  for  a  timid  per- 
son, or  one  unacquainted  with  their  ways,  to  get  anything  to 
eat.  There  was  not  a  waiter  on  the  boat  who  could  speak  one 
word  of  English  or  French,  but  the  custom  of  helping  one's 
self  comes  in  nicely  here.  The  first  morning  I  was  a  little 
late,  or  early,  I  knew  not  which,  for  when  I  entered  the  din- 
ing-saloon  there  was  no  one  but  myself.  However,  I  signified 
that  I  wanted  something  to  eat,  all  of  which  was  received  with 
smiles  of  acquiescence,  but  no  breakfast  came.  They  were  laisy 
piling  up  food  on  a  long  table  in  the  center  of  the  room.  Again 
and  again  I  tried,  but  all  in  vain.  I  was  getting  desperate,  so 
thought  I  would  appeal  to  the  captain,  l)ut  just  then  a  bell  rang 
and  people  rushed  in.  They  caught  up  plates  and  forks  from 
that  food-laden  table,  and  such  a  scramble,  pushing,  and  crowd- 
ing each  other  to  gain  a  desired  morsel  I  had  never  seen  outside 


62  A  AN'oman's  "\\\\nderings. 

a  place  where  troughs  are  rcHjuirt'd.  The  custom  is  iiuuh  as  the 
Bmorgarshord  system  at  Stockhohii,  only  here  was  added  to  the 
pickled  meats  hot  dishes,  such  as  eggs,  omelettes,  ham,  etc. 
When  each  had  eaten  all  he  could,  either  standing  or  sitting  at 
the  table,  a  separate  course  of  meat  and  vegetables  was  served, 
with  whatever  drink  one  desired.  Beer  seemed  the  favorite 
drink,  though  the  natives  prefer  their  brandy.  Coffee  they  do 
not  serve  at  breakfast,  but  hours  either  before  or  after,  and  that 
was  why  I  had  to  wait.  However,  they  instituted  a  new  order 
of  affairs,  for  I  would  not  l)e  comforted  or  consoled.  I  would, 
and  did,  have  coffee  witli  my  ])reakfast.  Fancy  liaviiig  peojjle 
eating  eggs,  a  cutlet,  vegetaljles,  with  l)eer  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning!  But  they  ate  and  drank  at  all  hours.  The  Russians 
had  their  tea,  Germans  beer,  Swedes  and  Finlanders  coffee, 
tourists  following  their  own  customs,  and  other  nationalities  to 
their  own  liking.     All  meals  were  served  in  much  the  same  style. 

At  dinner  I  saw  the  captain  helping  himself  in  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  as  eagerly  desirous  of  a  good  portion  as  those  who 
could  not  ask  so  easily  for  what  was  wanted.  There  was  no 
favoritism,  but  it  hardly  seemed  in  keeping  with  his  dignity 
and  gilt  Inittons,  scrambling  in  the  throng  around  the  helj)- 
yourself  table. 

We  were  quite  pleased  with  Helsingfors.  It  is  a  fine,  clean 
city,  but  contains  nothing  of  particular  interest  to  the  traveler. 
We  conversed  with  a  native,  a  woman,  who  spoke  such  good 
English  that  I  asked  her  where  she  learned  it.  "In  Buffalo," 
she  said,  and  added,  with  an  intensity  and  fervor  that  astonished 
me,  "I  shall  never  be  happy  until  lean  go  l)ack  to  America." 
She  had  been  there  once  for  two  years. 

I  learned  much  of  their  life  and  ways  from  her.  She  told  me 
that  the  Finlanders  had  put  on  mourning  when  the  edict  went 
forth  from  Russia  that  they  must  change  customs,  money,  etc. 
The  Russian  language  is  to  be  taught  in  the  schools;  their 
young  men  must  go  to  Russia  for  a  five  years'  training  in  tlie 
army.  "  Oh,  it  is  barbarous,"  she  said.  "Our  boys  can  never 
live  there.  They  will  all  die.  None  can  stand  it  five  years." 
She  said,  that  since  the  Czar  had  issued  his  edict,  men  and  women 
had  worn  only  black  at  tlicaters.  all  i>laces  of  amusement, 
churches,  etc. 


Russia.  63 

It  seemed  strange  to  hvav  her  talk  of  the  sorrow  and  wretc-hed- 
ness  caused  l\v  the  Czar,  while  he  figures  before  the  whole  world 
as  a  prime  mover  in  and  i)ronioter  of  the  Peace  Commission,  yet 
causing  untold  agony,  unrest,  and  grave  misapprehension  among 
his  own  people.  But  then  he  is  a  Czar,  and  his  ways,  like  provi- 
dence, are  past  finding  out.  He  evidently  wants  his  su])jects  to 
thoroughly  understand  his  laws  and  learn  the  language  in 
school,  for  out  of  a  population  of  two  million  there  are  hut  six 
thousand  Finlanders  who  speak  Russian. 


RUSSIA. 

From  the  Gulf  of  Finland  to  St.  Petersburg!  I  recall  the  first 
view  of  that  city,  the  river,  and  fleets  at  anchor.  Kronstadt's 
granite  forts,  the  domes,  towers,  and  thousands  of  strange  sights 
and  scenes  that  quickened  the  pulses.  We  could  only  look  while 
going  slowly  along,  in  silence;  after  landing,  we  waited  until  the 
grim  officials  passed  judgment  on  our  passports.  Finally  we  were 
allowed  to  go,  but  soon  as  our  hotel  was  reached  our  names  were 
asked,  our  passports  taken  and  handed  over  to  the  police.  We 
felt  we  were  under  strict  surveillance  in  this  land  of  the  Czar, 
but  rather  enjoyed  it,  and  wondered  if  we  were  suspects  or  looked 
like  nihilists. 

We  remembered  some  thrilling  experiences  in  a  certain  book, 
hunted  up  an  English  library  and  asked  for  it.  "  Not  allowed 
in  Russia."  Books  or  papers  with  anything  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree reflecting  on  customs  or  regulations  do  not  cross  the  border. 
If  a  paper  publishes  anything  derogatory  to  the  government, 
however  small,  it  is  suppressed  or  the  article  blotted  out.  Well, 
we  were  not  there  to  question,  but  to  see  and  enjoy,  and  we  did. 

We  took  a  drosky  and  drove  over  the  city,  up  the  Nevsky 
(the  Broadway  of  St.  Petersburg),  past  the  great  Kazan  Church, 
palaces,  squares,  barracks,  monuments,  temples,  and  canals. 
From  the  huge  golden  dome  of  St.  Isaac's  the  city  seems  to  be 
floating  like  a  bird  in  the  immense  body  of  water  surrounding  it. 

We  saw  Basil  Island  and  the  great  Nevsky,  with  barracks, 
etc.,  the  Exchange,  and  Winter   Palace,  the   swift,  blue    Neva, 


64  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

spanned  by  innumerable  bridges,  many  made  of  boats,  which 
are  removed  with  the  first  appearance  of  ice.  On  the  left  bank 
reside  the  court  and  nobility.  To  the  right  and  lower  down 
are  villages  of  the  laboring  classes.  What  a  medley  we  saw  in 
the  streets, — Jews,  Poles,  Cossacks,  soldiers  everywhere,  gray- 
coated  officials  carrying  bayonets  and  swords,  etc.;  booted  and 
bonnetted  villagers;  robed  priests  with  hats  shaped  like  in- 
verted brass  kettles,  a  piece  of  black  gauze  attached  to  the 
cylindrical-formed  caps  hanging  over  the  long,  greasy  hair 
braided  in  plaits. 

While  going  through  the  church  of  St.  Isaac's,  gazing  upon 
the  wealth  of  porphyry,  lapis  lazuli,  and  malachite,  I  thought 
I  would  like  to  question  a  priest  concerning  some  portions  of  the 
church.  I  could  not  remember  the  formula  necessary  to  preface 
a  question  with.  Afterwards  I  looked  it  up,  and  found  if  I 
wished  to  say  "  your  reverence,"  I  must  use  this  simple  word, 
"  Vuisokopreosswaehtshennaishi-Vladiko."  As  my  time  was  lim- 
ited in  Russia,  I  was  glad  I  did  not  have  a  day  to  spare  for 
the  next  word. 

The  Hermitage  and  Winter  Palace  are  simply  beyond  my 
power  of  description.  I  have  seen  the  best,  and  all,  of  the  Euro- 
pean palaces,  but  nothing  I  have  seen,  nothing  the  imagination 
could  picture,  can  compare  with  this  in  splendor  and  magnitude. 
Pictures,  gold,  precious  stones,  jewels — the  richness,  vastness,  is 
inconceivable. 

Then  we  go  to  the  simple  and  plain  little  house  of  Peter  the 
Great.  We  saw  his  boat,  built  by  himself.  From  there  we  went 
to  the  fortress  of  Peter  and  Paul,  wherein  lie  all  the  sovereigns 
of  Russia  since  the  founding  of  St.  Petersburg.  Innumerable 
sarcophagi  inclose  the  remains.  Golden  crowns  adorn  them; 
candles  are  burning  always.  There  are  armed  officials  at  every 
turn. 

Then  we  go  from  the  splendor  of  the  cathedral  and  from  the 
presence  of  those  who  ruled,  lying  now  at  rest,  but  still  protected, 
watched,  and  guarded,  out  into  the  air,  but  still  inside  the  walls, 
and  we  know,  though  we  are  not  permitted  to  see,  that  a  little 
farther  on  are  the  awful  dungeons  under  the  river,  where  so 
many  have  been  tortured  and  died.  What  deaths!  The  horror 
of  it.     The  terrible  gloom  makes    us  shudder,  and  we  are  glad 


Ri'SisiA.  65 

when  tlu'  driver  cuts  viciously  the  tougli  littU'  Cossack  horse, 
that,  answering  with  a  vigorous  kick  and  hound,  took  us  c^uickly 
from  the  phvce. 

The  galleries,  paintings,  the  beautiful  bronzes,  the  churches 
gorgeous  in  gold,  jewels,  pillars  and  altars  of  lapis  lazuli  and 
malachite  are  excjuisite  and  beyond  all  price,  yet  one  thinks,  in 
looking  at  all  this  magnificence,  of  Siberia,  of  the  quarries,  of  the 
horror,  the  dread,  the  torture,  and  —  well,  perhaps  the  people  for- 
get, so  kneel  and  kiss  the  tombs  of  the  dead  rulers  as  well  and 
fervently  as  the  feet  of  Christ.     But  I  know  I  could  not. 

Other  thoughts  took  possession  of  me  in  looking  at  those 
polished  altars,  tliose  wonderful  pillars  which  the  books  seem  to 
gloat  ever.  I  think  of  a  ruler  of  ninety  millions  of  people  who 
deems  nothing  of  building  a  church  that  will  cost  several  millions 
of  dollars,  yet  will  not  spend  a  few  thousands  for  a  school.  I 
know  that  wherever  I  have  traveled  through  Russia  I  observed 
the  squalid  villages,  and  low  thatched  huts  huddled  together,  but 
in  no  one  of  these  country  villages  did  I  see  a  schoolhouse.  I 
know  we  had  a  guide  whose  services  bring  him  one  dollar  and 
twenty-five  cents  per  day,  who  sends  his  boy  to  school.  It  costs 
him  over  eighty  dollars  a  year.  There  are  no  free  schools.  This 
man,  though  living  there,  is  a  German,  and  believes  in  educa- 
tion, so  must  stint  himself  in  every  way  to  educate  his  son. 

When  the  Czar  went  to  Moscow  last  year  to  unveil  the  statue 
of  Alexander  II,  he  had  eight  hundred  students  locked  up  in 
their  quarters  for  a  week,  lest  harm  might  come  to  him  through 
them,  and  yet,  now^  and  then,  people  wonder  at  nihilism. 

We  wonder  why  it  was  that  the  Russian  baths  seem  to  be  well 
known  all  the  world  over,  save  in  Russia,  and  why,  in  every  in- 
stance, when  we  desired  a  bath,  notice  must  be  given  two  hours 
in  advance,  that  they  might  heat  up  a  stove  with  enough  water 
to  fill  a  tub.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  astonish  one  here,  but  the 
baths  and  "  grab-table "  I  described  before  were  the  most 
astonishing. 

We  had  our  passports  returned,  after  paying  the  police  some- 
thing for  keeping  them  in  safety  for  us,  and  we  were  permitted 
to  leave  for  Moscow.  We  liked  this  city  Napoleon  captured  very 
much  better  than  St.  Petersburg.  It  spreads  over  a  circum- 
ference of  about  thirty  miles.     There  is  such  a  pleasing  negli- 


66  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

gence  and  pi«iuresque  irregularity  in  its  streets,  its  vast  expanse 
of  housetops  of  ever}'  conceival)le  style  of  architecture.  The 
Moskva,  rising  in  a  morass  in  the  province  Smolenski,  enters 
this  city,  to  which  it  has  given  its  name  on  the  west;  it  flows 
under  the  Kremlin,  issues  again  into  the  vast  ])lain  and  unites 
with  the  Oka. 

The  Kremlin!  I  was  so  impatient  to  see  the  fortress,  that 
we  had  ])een  ])ut  a  short  time  in  the  city  ere  we  were  within 
the  walls.  What  memories  clustered  around  this  place.  We 
climbed  the  tower  of  Ivan,  where  Napoleon  stood  with  his 
marshals,  looking  over  a  city  he  thought  was  his,  and  a  fairer 
sight  is  seldom  vouchsafed  any  one.  There  are  over  four  hun- 
dred churches  (some  say  seven  hundred)  in  tliis  city,  with 
their  gilt  and  star-bespangled  domes,  towers,  and  minarets. 
There  are  domes  everywhere — great  golden  globes,  pale  greens, 
colors  of  every  hue  and  tint,  with  the  deeper,  intense  indigo 
blue  of  the  smaller  domes  always,  or  nearly  so,  covered  with 
gold  stars,  but  a  blending  and  commingling  of  colors  that, 
strangely  enough,  does  not  jar,  but  seems  to  harmonize. 

Byzantine  architecture  borrowed  from  Constantinople  is  most 
prominent  here,  as  all  through  Russia,  and  one  marvels  at  the 
number  of  churches  and  the  ingenuity  displaj'ed  in  their  con- 
struction. Gilt  chains  swing  from  the  domes,  the  crescent  be- 
neath the  cross  denoting  the  triumph  of  Christianity  over 
Mohammedanism. 

The  Church  of  our  Saviour  is  not  excelled  in  splendor  by  any 
in  the  world  —  a  dream  in  cream  tints  looming  against  the  blue 
skies.  There  are  life-sized  pictures  incrusted  with  glittering 
jewels,  pavements  where  one  treads  on  beautiful  marbles  while 
gazing  on  walls  that  are  made  of  jasper,  alabaster,  malachite, 
and  other  precious  stones  from  Siberia,  so  rare  and  valuable 
that  the  cost  is  beyond  imagining.  No  statues  or  figures  are 
allowed  wdthin  the  Greek  churches,  but  the  people  prostrate 
themselves  before  altars  rich  in  paintings. 

Then  comes  the  Church  of  St.  Basil  with  its  gorgeous  color- 
ings and  numerous  domes  representing  fruits  and  vegetables, 
—  a  rather  crazy  idea  of  architecture,  but  suitable  to  the  two 
idiots  over  whose  graves  the  building  was  erected. 

We  saw  the  Cathedral  of  the  Assumption  gorgeously  decorated. 


Russia.  (>7 

This  is  where  the  Czars  crown  themselves,  no  one  h(^in}2;  deenicd 
worthy  hut  himself  to  })erf()rm  the  office.  There  were  many 
churches  gorgeous  in  gold  and  marhle,  the  floors  i)aved  with 
jaspers,  carnelians,  and  other  heautiful  stones. 

The  treasury,  which  is  incomparahle,  has  no  display  equal 
to  it,  except  the  Sultan's,  at  Constantinople.  Radiant  and  re- 
splendent were  the  robes,  crowns,  and  scepters  scintillating  with 
jewels  that  greeted  me  in  every  imaginable  form  in  this  Iniilding. 

The  palaces,  buildings,  churches,  etc.,  within  the  walls  of  the 
Kremlin,  which  occupies  a  radius  of  two  miles,  constitute  the 
greatest  charm  of  Moscow,  though  the  city  is  full  of  interest, 
and  is  peculiar,  but  fascinating,  never  wearying. 

Then  there  is  the  wonderful  bell  of  Moscow,  which  weighed 
one  hundred  and  ninety-three  tons  before  the  sliver  of  fourteen 
tons  was  broken  from  it. 

I  go  for  days,  never  tiring  of  its  beauties,  its  old  historical  places 
—  not  so  old,  however.  But  who  can  think  of  Moscow  only  as  it 
is  now?  Always  the  mind  goes  back  to  the  invasion.  I  thought 
of  it  when  we  drove  to  the  hills  where  Napoleon  and  his  army 
first  saw  the  city  after  the  plains  of  Lithuania.  It  could  not 
have  been  more  beautiful  than  now.  But  one  could  well  imagine 
the  delirium  of  delight  it  must  have  brought  them  when  the 
splendid  city  appeared  to  their  longing  e3'es.  I  can  well  under- 
stand the  feeling  of  the  people  who  fired  and  burnt  their  loved 
homes.    They  have  rebuilt  it  now,  a  more  beautiful  city  than  ever. 

But  the  old  Kremlin  is  still  there,  with  its  snowy  walls,  the 
building  set  in  a  rich  frame  of  water  and  verdant  foliage;  above 
all,  the  famed  tower,  gorgeous  churches,  and  the  throngs  who  wor- 
ship. 

Such  outward  humility  and  devotion  I  have  never  seen  as  in 
these  Greek  churches.  But  again  the  question  comes  up,  If 
really  a  true  devotional  spirit,  why  this  unrest  and  wickedness? 
or  is  it  only  a  form,  and  a  waiting?  Will  there  be  a  millennium? 
and  will  it  reach  the  Czar's  realm? 

Traveling  with  us  a  short  distance  through  Russia  was  a  beau- 
tiful, well-dressed  young  lady,  who  graciously  gave  us  fruit  and 
bonbons,  then  smilingly  took  out  a  jeweled  case  and  offered  us  a 
cigarette.  It  was  hard  to  refuse  after  the  other  dainties,  l)ut  we 
did  it  as  gently  as  possible.     It  was  common  to  see  the  women 


68  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

smoking  in  the  streets,  but  we  had  not  seen,  until  this  time, 
ladies  smoking  in  cars. 

Coming  from  Warsaw  with  us  were  a  party  of  Americans, 
herded  by  some  one  who  tried  to  make  them  seem  helpless  as  in- 
fants. At  every  station  the  globular  gentleman  was  out,  parad- 
ing his  generous  proportions  and  evidence  of  knowledge  in  a 
blatant,  pompous  sort  of  way  that,  to  one  who  was  not  paying 
for  it,  seemed  ridiculous.  He  would  point  to  a  rye-field  and 
assert  that  beyond  doubt  it  was  rye,  clover,  or  oats,  as  the  case 
might  be.  There  were  countless  flocks  of  geese  as  we  neared  the 
frontier,  and  he  announced  that  he  had  heard  that  they  plucked 
the  feathers  from  the  breasts  of  the  birds,  but  was  not  certain  if 
they  were  kept  for  that  purpose  or  for  their  eggs.  Think  of  be- 
ing brought  across  the  ocean  and  illimitable  plains  of  Russia  to 
hear  a  statement  of  that  sort. 

The  same  man  had  told  his  party  that  he  had  a  special  dining- 
car  put  on  for  their  exclusive  use.  It  was  hard  on  the  poor  man 
that  we  were  not  taken  into  his  confidence,  for  at  the  first  signal 
for  dinner  we  were  in  the  dining-car.  The  result  was,  that, 
though  he  had  counted  seats  and  there  were  enough  to  just 
fill  it,  he  had  forgotten  that  there  were  others,  so  he  and  one  of 
the  flock  had  to  wait  until  we  finished  our  dinner. 

It  really  seems  strange  that  bright,  intelligent,  wide-awake 
people  come  over  here,  allowing  themselves  to  be  taken  hur- 
riedly from  place  to  place  in  a  crowded  state  that  cannot  be 
comfortable  or  instructive;  but,  then,  it  saves  a  lot  of  thinking 
and  planning,  and  many  people  are  averse  to  both. 

We  were  glad  to  have  the  last  gray-coated  official  hand  us 
our  passports  and  bow  us  over  the  frontier.  Much  as  we 
enjoyed  some  portions  of  Russia,  we  were  glad  to  be  away  from 
the  grimy  drosky-drivers  and  others  one  must  meet  in  traveling. 

We  are  leaving  the  White  Empire  —  her  cities  resplendent  with 
all  that  wealth  can  bring,  as  well  as  from  streets  redolent  with 
smells  of  cigarettes  and  cabbage-soup;  away  from  the  land  of 
vodka,  the  bottled  curse  of  the  foolish  —  for  foolishness  and  thirst 
are  said  to  be  found  in  the  same  head.  It  may  be  so  with  the 
natives,  but  no  thirst  could  ever  parch  my  lips  sufficiently  as  to 
create  a  desire  to  assuage  it  with  a  second  taste.  I  had  asked  a 
waiter  for  a  glass  of  water,  and  as  the  pronunciation  is  similar, 


(xIMniANY.  (39 

he  brought  me  a  carafe  of  braiuly.  Few  peopk'  ever  (h-iuk  plain 
water  in  Russia.  He  could  not  understand  how  any  one  sliould 
prefer  nature's  beverage  to  corn-l)randy,  so  I  lost  caste  in  his 
eyes  at  once. 

We  saw  in  Russia  no  bleak  plains  or  steppes,  such  as  we  had 
imagined,  but  well-tim])ered  sections  everywhere  —  for  the  gov- 
ernment has  wisely  planted  forests  in  every  available  space. 
They,  however,  are  very  primitive  in  agricultural  notions.  Men 
and  women,  mostly  the  latter,  cut  all  the  hay  and  grain  with 
scythes,  tying  up  the  little  wisps  in  small  Innidles  —  and  how 
they  do  work  all  day  in  the  hot  sun,  up  to  eight  and  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening.  It  was  the  same  all  through  Poland,  though  soon 
after  leaving  Warsaw  we  noticed  a  change  for  the  l)etter.  The 
people,  crops,  herds  —  all  looked  better  and  more  content.  We 
heard  now  and  then  a  little  conversation;  no  such  suUenness  as 
farther  north.  But  that  is  all  of  the  past.  The  appearance  of 
windmills  —  the  storks,  following  the  women  and  children  con- 
tentedly in  the  fields,  or  nodding  approval  from  the  housetops — - 
the  people,  and  costumes  —  bespeak  the  ''  Faderland." 


GERMANY. 

We  took  a  good  rest  in  Berlin,  and  enjoyed  the  shaded  Unter 
den  Linden,  her  beautiful  streets,  the  gay  life,  which  is  more  like 
Paris  than  any  city  we  have  seen.  The  streets  were  filled  with 
stylish  women  and  well-dressed  men.  Cafh  and  restaurants  line 
the  streets;  the  people  seem  to  be  eating  and  drinking  all  the 
time.  The  drives  and  walks  are  beautiful;  such  well-shaded 
paths  and  woods,  well-swept  and  watered. 

Everywhere  women  were  seated  at  work;  the  everlasting  knit- 
ting-needles endlessly  clinking.  Are  there  no  knitting  factories 
in  Europe?  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any  woman  reading 
a  book. 

The  Thiergarten,  Charlottenburg,  the  musuems  and  galleries, 
are  interesting,  and  the  places  so  well  known,  also,  that  I  need 
only  mention  them.  Every  one  who  has  seen  them  knows  how 
enjoyable  they  are,  and  I  would  not  weary  those  who  have  not, 
with  a  lengthy  description. 


70  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

One  of  our  most  enjoyable  days  was  spent  at  Potsdam,  in  the 
lovely  grounds,  and  Sans  Souei,  which  contains  many  relics  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  particularly  the  old  windmill  and  other  in- 
teresting objects  dating  from  his  residence  there. 

While  in  Berlin  we  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  post-office  for  a 
money-order.  A  few  shillings  had  been  unjustly  extorted  from 
us  by  some  railway  officials  in  Holland.  We  complained  to  the 
firm  from  whom  we  had  purchased  our  tickets,  and  on  our  arri- 
val in  Berlin  found  the  matter  had  been  righted.  We  entered 
and  presented  the  order  at  a  window.  An  official  with  much 
gilt  and  Inittons  to  match,  took  the  paper  and  perused  it  at 
length.  It  was  written  in  English.  Then,  although  I  am  sure 
he  could  not  read  a  word,  he  got  even  by  pointing  to  another 
window,  over  which  was  written  "  post  aurveisungen."  There 
the  same  ceremony  was  repeated,  and  we  were  sent  to  another 
window,  labeled  "  Briefausgabe  "  ;  to  still  another,  over  which 
was  written,  in  bold  letters,  "  Das  rauchen  ist  verboten."  The 
last,  where  we  rested  and  refused  "to  play  ball"  for  the  remainder 
of  the  day,  said  "  Geschlossen."  At  that  moment  an  authorita- 
tive hand  waved,  and  a  voice  said  "  Come."  We  went,  got  our 
money,  and  will  never  know  if  it  was  all  entirely  according  to 
the  Code,  or  if  they  had  a  gleam  of  humor  and  were  having  fun 
at  our  expense. 

Dresden,  the  city  on  the  Elbe,  with  her  almost  unrivaled  col- 
lections of  arts,  claimed  us  after  Berlin.  We  enjoyed  the  sweet, 
clean  city,  the  miles  and  miles  of  streets,  smooth  as  floors, 
washed  perfectly  clean,  and  the  beautiful  parks  and  houses. 
From  every  window,  almost,  gleam  bright-hued  flowers.  The 
electric  cars  are  quite  numerous,  as  are  the  lights,  almost 
superseding  gas,  and  quite  driving  out  here,  as  in  most  other 
places,  the  old  idea  of  candles  in  one's  rooms  at  hotels. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  and  Green  Vault  are  stored  the  price- 
less treasures,  jewels,  and  works  of  art  dating  from  the  Renais- 
sance and  Rococo  eras,  enamels,  ivory  carvings,  and  crystal  cut- 
ting in  bewildering  array.  There  are  statues  and  churches  that 
take  days  to  even  glance  at. 

In  the  museum  the  pictures,  wonderful  in  beauty  and  num- 
ber, try  one's  strength  and  endurance.  One  tires  of  acres  and 
neck-breaking  sky-liners,    however   good.     Some   exceptions  are 


Germany. 


71 


worth  it  all.  Italian  art.  as  represented  in  Raphael's  grandly- 
beautiful  Sistine  Madonna,  along  with  many  others  of  the  golden 
period  of  Italian  and  Venetiaii  art,  cannot  be  forgotten,  and  pay 
{or  the  otherwise  wearv  routine. 


\  //  ■  1 

vW  ■/ 

/  /^^'''  "v*^  ^^  A 

^0^!^^^^^ 

^^^^HP^n  '    !  /  /  /^IV 

A 

T'^ 

^^9                                   .'      ■'f'         '                                       'ttl^^Mi 

^fli 

1. ) .  .■    ._,:,^                                 faPBBBBI 

*~7-.-..-:-- 

lilHHHHli^ 

HISTORICAL    WIXDMIM,    AT    I'OTtSDA.M. 


From  Dresden  through  the  8axon  Hwitzerlanil,  along  the  Elbe 
past  Konigstein  and  Lilienstine,  the  two  fortresses  which  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Seven  Years'  War  were  compelled  to  surrender 
to  the  Prussian  army  under  Frederick  the  Great,  the  scenery- 
was  magnificent,  until  we  had  crossed  the  Austrian  frontier, 
where  the  road  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  until  we  reached  Vienna, 
lay  through  a  rich  agricultural  country. 


AUSTRIA. 

Here,  as  in  every  eountry  visited,  the  crops  were  being  cared 
for,  and  here,  too,  the  greater  nunjl)er  of  harvesters  were  women, 
reaping,  tying  up  the  grain,  tossing  the  hay  ahoiit,  that  it 
might  dry.  Here,  too,  we  saw  women  working  in  gravel-pits, 
on  the  raih'oads,  mixing  mortar  and  carrying  ])rick  for  the 
erection  of  houses,  walls,  etc.  It  seemed  dreadful,  and  some- 
how took  away  a  great  deal  of  the  pleasure  of  the  journey. 

If  hope  is  the  swing  in  which  we  vibrate  all  our  lives,  I  won- 
der if  there  is  much  of  the  vibration  there  —  if  in  their  poor  lives 
there  ever  comes  a  gleam  of  something  l>etter.  The  cocoon  feels, 
doubtless,  the  quivering  of  the  wings  that  some  day  will  un- 
fold and  the  l)utterfly  will  be  out  free  and  fluttering  in  the 
warm,  sweet  air  on  those  same  painted  wings  —  but  is  there  a 
hope  of  rest  in  life,  a  feeling  of  aught  else  but  stern  necessity  and 
unending  labor  for  them  this  side  of  the  grave?  I  think  not.  If 
the  time  ever  existed  when  men  worked  and  women  merely  wept, 
it  did  not  find  a  stopping-place  in  these  lands,  where  men  click 
their  spurs  and  swords  on  smooth  pavements  while  the  women  — 
if  they  have  time  for  a  tear,  it  is  dried  in  the  blistering  sun. 
Small  matter  it,  or  the  dreadful  Inirdens.  Soldiers  are  needed  in 
the  army,  and  the  army  must  ])e  fed. 

We  were  housed  in  a  hotel  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  tower 
of  St.  Stephen's,  in  Vienna.  From  this  old  Gothic  church  with 
its  curious  carvings  radiate  a  network  of  streets.  A  ring  or  belt 
of  splendid  boulevards  marks  the  line  of  ancient  fortifications, 
and  an  electric  tramway  takes  one  the  entire  circle,  past  magnifi- 
cent buildings  and  avenues  of  trees,  giving  splendid  views  of 
charming  suburbs. 

In  the  Church  of  the  Ca})uchins,  which  contains  the  l)urial- 
vault  of  the  imperial  family,  we  saw  among  the  dark,  dust-cov- 
ered coffins  the  new  silver  caskets  of  the  Empress  and  her  son. 

Here  the  picture-gal kn'ies  are  too  large  and  tiresome,  save  only 
for  a  hasty  survey,  unless  one  has  time  to  waste.  The  two  new 
twin  museums  are  exactly  alike,  save  the  interior  decorations. 
The  magnificence  of  the  niarl)les  and  different  i)()lished  stones 
are  beyond  description. 

72 


AUSTHIA.  78 

The  Viennese  love  outdoor  life,  ;is  well  as  the  licrliiicis.  Tlu? 
volksgarteu  is  always  crowded.  It  is  the  lordly  Prater,  Vienna's 
great  park,  which  extends  nearly  four  miles  down  the  Donau 
Canal,  a  branch  of  the  Danube.  There  are  many  l)uildings  left 
since  the  exposition  years  ago,  and  it  is  still  used  for  annual  ex- 
hibitions, concerts,  etc.  They  have  wisely  left  it  much  as  it  was 
at  that  time,  so  restaurants  line  the  well-shaded  drives.  There 
is  a  constant  throng  oi  people,  walking,  driving,  riding,  cycling, 
or  sitting  listening  to  the  bands  in  the  cafe  gardens.  The  lilt  of 
the  lute,  the  whirl  of  the  Strauss  waltzes,  animation,  life  in  all 
its  phases,  may  be  seen  in  their  wild  and  enjoyable  Prater. 

The  grounds  and  gardens  at  Shoenbrun,  the  summer  palace  of 
the  Emperor,  are  as  well  patronized  as  are  the  parks.  What 
crowds  of  people  we  saw  there,  wandering  along  the  countless 
paths,  where  the  great  trees,  from  forty  to  fifty  feet  in  height, 
were  trimmed  into  hedgerows,  and  as  even  as  if  only  a  foot  in 
height.  Then  so  much  is  left  in  its  natural  l^eauty,  that  off  the 
walks  it  seems  as  though  one  wandered  in  primeval  forests. 
From  the  top  of  the  marble  colonnade  of  the  Gloriette  we  had 
a  splendid  view  of  the  city,  the  suburbs,  and  gardens  of  the 
palace.  Surely  these  people  are  blest  in  having  so  many  places 
within  and  near  the  city  where  they  can  breathe  fresh  air  and 
enjoy  nature,  as  the  parks  are  kept  for  the  people  and  their 
enjoyment. 

Early  one  morning  we  left  Vienna,  after  a  lengthy  discussion 
with  our  cab-driver,  who  insisted  on  his  fare  liefore  starting.  It 
seems  there  is  some  police  regulation  regarding  the  payment  of 
fares  before  stopping  at  the  stations,  which  is  as  senseless  as  their 
having  certain  stopping-places  for  street-cars,  causing  one  to 
walk  blocks  often  in  the  pouring  rain,  in  order  to  ride  half  the 
distance  walked,  especially  if  one  does  not  know  the  town.  Well, 
we  refused,  and  when  a  woman  says  no  and  means  it,  a  man 
usually  has  discretion  enough  to  acquiesce.  We  were  wise  after 
all,  for  he  took  us  to  the  wrong  landing,  and  got  his  fare  only 
when  we  were  at  the  right  place.  At  any  rate,  we  escapeil  l»y 
getting  hurriedly  on  the  boat. 

Rules  and  regulations  were  nothing  to  us.  Cabmen  and  police 
were  as  things  that  are  not,  when  we  were  steaming  down  the 
swift-flowing  Danube.     We  enjoyed  it  immensely  in  the  earlier 


74  A  Woman's  Wanderincjs. 

part  of  the  day,  but  it  was  tiresome,  as  there  is  Init  little  variety 
—  mostly  level  country,  until  we  neared  Hungary. 

Here  there  were  bold  l)luffs  and  castled  crags,  reminding  one  of 
the  Rhine,  Deveny  and  Hamburg  castles,  the  walls  and  towers  up 
high  above  the  broad,  green  river, —  for,  with  all  reverence  and 
admiration  for  Strauss,  the  beautiful  blue  Danube  is  not  bhie,  but 
a  pale,  thin,  milky  green,  more  lovely,  if  possible,  though  less 
poetic,  then  common  blue,  as  the  coloring  is  unique  and  different 
from  any  stream  I  have  ever  seen. 

The  river  was  low.  We  endured  the  day,  hoping  that  at  seven 
o'clock  our  journey  would  end,  but  we  found  out  by  accident  that 
the  l)oat  would  not  arrive  until  midnight  at  Budapest.  So,  by 
special  permission  of  the  captain,  we  were  allowed  a  stateroom, 
and  slept  until  next  morning.  There  is  some  arrangement  be- 
tween the  owners  of  1)oats  and  hotels,  and  only  in  exceptional 
cases  people  are  allowed  to  remain  on  board  overnight.  We 
were  the  exception,  and  enjoyed  a  good  night's  rest.  And  the 
following  morning  we  felt  refreshed,  and  ready  to  enjoy  the  city. 

Buda  and  Pest,  formerly  two  cities,  are  now  united  under  one 
name.  There  are  nearly  half  a  million  inhabitants,  and  the 
wonderful  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  this  gateway  to  the 
Orient  in  the  past  twenty  years  are  astonishing.  They  never 
tire  of  telling  of  it,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  it  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  cities  we  have  seen. 

The  new  House  of  Parliament  is  copied  from  the  English,  —  only 
the  exterior,  however,  as  it  undoubtedly  has  no  counterpart  for 
gold  and  exquisite  marbles  and  Oriental  decorations  of  the  in- 
terior. 

The  streets  are  lined  with  palaces  of  the  Hungarian  nobles. 
We  stopped  in  one,  now  turned  into  a  hotel,  on  the  bank  of  the 
Danube.  Our  landlord  was  a  Hungarian  with  a  Byronic  face, 
and  master  of  several  languages.  In  fact,  he  handed  us  a  book 
describing  his  hotel  and  Budapest,  that  he  had  translated  into 
English  and  German.  In  describing  the  palace,  this  sentence 
struck  me  forcibly:  "  It  was  built  on  the  ruins  of  Kings  Bela 
IVth  castle  reconstructed  under  Mary-Theresia.  But  nowadays 
it  will  quite  newly  built."  I  am  therefore  in  doubt  as  to  whether 
I  saw  it  or  not.  Another  sentence  read:  "  We  leave  the  hotel  in 
Valencia-Gosse  and  come  to  the  redoute  which  we  admire  from 


Austria.  75 

near."  However  lucid  his  book,  he  was  very  obliging,  and  made 
us  quite  comfortable,  for  his  hotel  was  good  and  he  prepared  the 
Hungarian  dishes  —  only  known  to  the  country  —  for  us,  and 
which  we  found  very  palatable. 

The  fruits  were  good  —  the  very  lirst  we  have  found;  fortius 
in  the  truest  sense  has  been  a  fruitless  summer  for  me.  But 
here  were  figs,  watermelons,  large  bunches  of  ripe,  purple  grapes, 
pears  and  peaches,  looking  so  homelike,  but.  in  truth,  not 
tasting  quite  so  well. 

The  Emperor's  palace,  in  which  be  must  reside  three  months 
in  the  year,  is  on  the  Buda  side,  and  the  location  high  up  on 
the  terraced  hill  overlooking  the  town  of  Pest  on  the  plain, 
with  the  broad,  beautiful  river  below,  is  connected  by  innu- 
merable bridges.  The  beauty  of  it  all  is  well  worth  the  trip 
down  the  Danube  to  see. 

There  is  no  city  that  has  the  bathing  facilities  we  found  here. 
There  are  several  places  in  the  city  where  sulphur  water  comes 
almost  boiling-hot  from  the  ground.  Baths  are  established,  and 
people  swarm  around  the  pipes,  where  the  water  flows  all  the 
time,  drinking  it  hot,  or  carrying  it  away  in  bottles  for  home  use. 

Then  there  is  the  beautiful  Margaret  Island,  that  is  exquisite 
in  flowers,  green  grass,  and  forest  trees.  It  has  been  known 
since  the  Romans  occupied  it  as  a  fortified  outpost.  The  baths 
are  delightful;  more  than  that,  it  is  not  necessary  to  say,  for 
never  in  all  my  travels  have  I  seen  such  an  ideal  place.  They 
have  an  electric  underground  railway  in  Buda,  and  in  the 
center  of  the  town  there  are  no  wires  overhead,  which  certainly 
adds  to  the  beauty  of  the  streets. 

In  the  town  forests,  the  park  where  the  exposition  was  held, 
the  crowds  love  to  gather  when  the  heat  of  the  day  is  over 
and  the  night  not  yet  begun.  The  drives  are  alive  with  vehicles 
of  all  sorts  from  the  four-in-hand  of  the  Hungarian  noble  to 
the  steady  family-filled  carriage  and  one-horse  fiacres. 

The  children  in  the  parks  are  busy  as  bees  around  heaps  of 
shining  sands.  I  watch  them,  and  think  of  days  when  I,  too, 
poured  sand  into  battered  pails  and  built  castles  that  no  tide  of 
forgetfulness  could  ever  wash  away.  The  winds  seemed  singing 
a  litany  among  the  trees.  In  the  multitude  of  sounds  there  was 
quiet,  and  Avith  peace  and  good  will  toward  all  we  said  adieu  to 
Budapest. 


SAV  ITZERLAND. 

Back  to  Vienna.  Then  we  were  off  for  Inn^.l»riU'k,  the  capital 
of  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  where  we  stopped  for  a  week's  rest,  and 
a  more  perfect  week  could  not  he  imagined.  The  situation  is 
unique;  a  long,  wide,  sunny  valley,  extending  along  the  hase  of  the 
towering  grayish-white  Bavarian  Alps.  The  town  is  in  the  midst 
of  this  valley  and  situated  on  hoth  sides  of  the  River  Inn,  which 
runs  so  swiftly  that  we  saw  no  craft  of  any  kind  upon  it.  It 
comes  from  the  Engadine  and  seems  in  mad  haste  to  lose  itself 
in  the  Danube  River;  the  valley,  though  it  was  September,  was 
a  vivid  green,  and  glowed  with  sheets  of  blooming  flowers. 

We  were  ushered  into  the  town  with  a  terrific  thunder  storm 
that  was  so  severe  that  a  few  miles  l)efore  reaching  our  destina- 
tion the  train  came  to  a  standstill.  It  seemed  as  though  we 
would  be  blown  from  the  rails,  the  cars  are  so  small  and  light, 
so  they  were  wise,  perhaps,  in  waiting  until  the  violence  of  the 
storm  had  subsided  before  proceeding  farther. 

Harvesting  was  in  full  sway,  and  there  were  rows  and  rows 
of  stakes  driven  in  the  ground.  The  bundles,  or  sheaves,  were 
placed  thereon  to  dry.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  storm  catch 
them,  tearing  up  the  stakes,  tossing  and  scattering  the  sheaves 
in  mad  fury.  The  harvest  was  past,  the  sheaves  garnered,  yet 
in  a  minute's  time  all  was  desolate,  and  the  work  of  a  long 
summer  as  nothing.  They  have  such  little  fields  and  worked 
so  hard,  yet  it  seems  are  never  certain  until  the  grain  is  housed. 
How  different  with  us  at  homo;  no  fear  of  storms,  and  yet  our 
farmers  complain. 

We  drove  through  the  rain  to  our  hotel,  once  an  old  schloss, 
situated  on  a  hillside,  and  the  next  morning  looked  on  a  scene 
that  was  bewildering  in  beauty.  Our  l)aleony  overhung  a  gar- 
den all  a-tangle  with  vines  and  blossoms,  while  gnarled  old 
fruit  trees  dropped  rich,  ripe  apples  upon  the  sward.  Pear 
trees  were  trained  along  the  old  stone  walls  much  as  we  train 
grape-vines.  The  fruit  looked  delicious,  but  I  found  afterwards 
was  not  very  palatable. 

The  Inn  River  flowed  1)V  at  the  foot  of  the  gardens.  Beyond 
this  was  the  valley,  still    farther  away  were  the  mountains  in 

70 


Switzerland.  77 

lofty  grandeur  and  ideal  beauty;  there  were  h!U{)erb  vistas  one 
never  tired  of  looking  at.  There  seemed  something  new,  from 
the  forest-crowned  foothills  to  the  rough,  rugged,  snow-white 
peaks  so  nearer  heaven.  We  had  a  succession  of  windless,  sunny 
days.  We  sat  on  the  balcony  and  trod  in  spirit  those  path- 
less fields  of  snow,  watching  the  sunsets  —  the  Alpine  glow  — 
in  rich  rose  tints  on  the  white  peaks.  We  saw  them  in  the 
glory  of  moonlight,  glittering  on  the  snow,  while  the  valley 
slept  in  tender,  pale  light  far  below. 

From  the  churches  below  us  in  the  distance,  the  sound  of 
bells  came  at  eventide;  the  sweetest-sounding  bells  I  have  ever 
heard,  save  in  the  City  of  Mexico;  the  melody,  the  sweet  intona- 
tions, were  a  prayer,  a  sermon,  in  themselves.  I  saw  the  sun 
rise  every  morning,  gilding  with  a  glorious  radiance  the  peaks, 
gleaming  through  the  blue  mists  hovering  over  the  valley  and 
river;  heard  the  clocks  chime  the  hour,  and  the  answering 
shots  from  the  bare-legged  peasants  in  their  quaint  Tyrolean 
costumes,  climbing  up  those  steep  declivities  in  quest  of  the 
wary  chamois. 

We  went  now  and  then  down  to  the  busy  little  town,  wander- 
ing through  streets  that  seemed  planned  solely  for  scenic  effects. 
One  is  impressed  that  nature  is  paramount,  and  these  people 
show  it  in  every  way.  There  were  many  charming  places  to  see, 
but  we  cared  for  few,  as  we  were  waiting  for  the  days  to  come 
that  would  try  our  strength;  so  we  idled  away  hovirs  in  shops,  in 
galleries,  listening  to  the  exploits  of  Hofer. 

They  like  to  tell  of  the  innkeeper  under  whose  leadership  the 
French  were  driven  out,  and  who,  after  being  elevated  to  the 
head  of  the  government,  still  wore  his  peasant  clothes,  and 
while  occupying  the  palace  cost  the  government  five  dollars  per 
day  for  his  personal  expenses.  What  a  theme  for  an  orator,  had 
he  been  a  countryman  of  ours!  There  was  a  Judas  who  betrayed 
him,  and  Napoleon  had  him  executed  in  1810,  but  they  talk  of 
him  as  if  it  only  happened  a  few  years  ago. 

In  an  old  church  we  saw  the  tomb  of  Maximilian,  one  of  the 
finest  of  the  German  Renaissance  tombs,  finished  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  It  possessed  a  fascination  for  me,  this  reminder  of 
Maximilian's  time,  the  turning-point  between  the  mediaeval  and 
modern  times.     He,  the  "Last  Knight,"  passed  away  just  before 


78  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

the  angry  billows  of  the  sea  of  "reform"  l)roke  over  Germany. 
Near  his  is  the  tomb  of  Hofer,  in  strong  contrast  in  its  simplicity; 
yet  the  two  were  closely  bound  together  liy  ties  sacred,  political, 
and  historic.  These  monuments  conjure  up  a  living  past,  and 
thoughts  crowd  thick  and  fast;  we  come  out  and  breathe  the  air 
of  those  mountains  "Kaiser  Max"  loved  so  well. 

We  see  the  simple  folks  busy,  cheerful,  and  content;  we  go  back 
to  our  inn  and  watch  a  different  life,  the  life  of  the  present.  We 
hear  the  chatter  of  the  English  girl,  wherein  everything  is 
"awfully  near,"  or  "dear,"  as  the  case  may  be;  the  varied  con- 
versation of  the  newly  arrived,  and  showing  it  in  every  sentence 
—  American  girl — is  amusing,  for  it  has  been  weeks  since  we 
have  heard  scarcely  a  dozen  words  of  our  own  language. 

A  party  of  French  people  is  interesting,  also.  A  pretty  young 
widow  wearing  a  bonnet,  the  veil  reaching  to  the  hem  of  her 
skirt,  is  rather  depressing  in  the  dining-room.  We  respect  the 
length  of  the  veil,  and  are  quiet  during  meals.  Life  in  its  dif- 
ferent phases  is  worth  studying  as  it  appears  at  the  table;  after- 
wards, also,  when  from  our  aeries  we  look  down  to  a  balcony  be- 
neath us  and  see  the  widow  with  two  young  ladies  and  a  young 
man  sitting  cozil)''  together,  all  smoking  long,  very  long,  cigars, 
and  the  widow's  hat  and  veil  are  put  away;  she  laughs  and  puffs 
out  great  clouds  of  smoke;  her  sorrow  seems  to  disappear  in  the 
thin  blue  wreaths;  so  it  ends,  and  so  ends  our  week  at  Innsbruck. 

We  were  not  greatly  interested  in  Zurich,  so  pass  on  to  Lucerne, 
where  we  arrived  late  one  evening.  The  winds  were  chill  with 
the  first  breath  of  autumn,  making  the  comforters  of  eiderdown  a 
blessing  in  warmth  and  lightness,  and  we  slept  until  another  day 
broke,  and  the  shadowy  clouds  drifted  apart,  and  the  peerless 
Righi  and  stern  old  Pilatus  loomed  grandly  above  the  clear, 
sparkling  waters. 

In  the  dim  distance,  a  white  wraith,  so  indefinite  as  to  seem 
unreal,  showed  now  and  then.  It  was  some  time  before  I  real- 
ized it  was  an  old  friend  of  long  ago,  the  Jungfrau.  The  view 
was  enchanting;  but  there  are  so  many  in  and  around  Lucerne 
that  it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  them  separately. 

Lucerne  has  some  two  hundred  thousand  people,  who  yearly 
visit  her  walls  and  towers,  walk  the  streets,  lounge  along  the  qua}', 
listen  to  bands  in  the   Kursaal,  or  the  grand  organ  in  the  Hof- 


yWITZEKI.AM).  Si 

kirehe;  or  go  to  the  <rl;u'ier  garden  and  look  ujion  Thorwaldsen's 
lion  in  his  rock-hewn  niehe,  lying  with  a  hroken  sliaft  in  Ins  side 
ahove  the  quiet  water  pool.  Some  love  to  wander  in  the  past, 
and  so  stand  on  the  old  wooden  Ijridge  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
the  bridge  Longfellow  has  made,  or  helped  to  make,  famous,  and, 
we,  the  last,  almost,  of  the  birds  of  passage,  loiter  there,  too,  antl 
watch  the  rapid  river  Reuss;  see  the  rippling  shadows  play  and 
dance  u})on  the  walls.  And  beneath  the  old  eves  where  many, 
so  many,  have  stood  before  us,  and  so  many  will  come  after,  we 
look  at  the  ancient  walls  and  gates,  thence  to  the  river  again, 
and  see  the  long  line  of  modern  hotels  that  border  the  lake  and 
spoil  its  beauty. 

But  the  summer  birds  must  l)e  housed  and  their  comfort  looked 
after.  In  a  town  where  the  present  is  so  beautiful,  we  may  well 
let  the  pasi  be  forgotten,  for  Lucerne  of  the  lake  and  mountains 
is  incomparable.  Her  people  are  wise;  they  build  and  beautify 
to  please  the  tourist,  and  the  tourist  responds,  so  money  is  plenti- 
ful, shops  alluring,  and  usually  kept  by  a  class  who  do  not  ob- 
serve the  Sabbath.  Open  doors  are  in  evidence  everywhere,  wares 
are  temptingly  displayed,  and  the  traveling  public  attend  t(j  the 
rest. 

We  sailed  around  the  beautiful  blue  lake.  A  continual  change 
of  scenery  made  the  day  charming  and  enjoyable  —  the  luxu- 
riant vegetation  of  the  hills  and  slopes,  with  the  higher  Alps  in 
the  distance;  villages  everywhere,  and  countless  chalets  dotting 
the  mountains,  even  up  to  the  snow-line. 

Lucerne,  as  every  one  knows,  is  noted  not  only  for  its  wild  and 
})icturesque  scenery,  but  is  memorable  for  its  association  with  the 
heroic  legends  of  William  Tell.  We  stopped  at  the  chapel, 
marking  the  spot  where  he  jumped  from  the  boat  of  Gessler,  and 
saw  the  fountain  at  Altdorf,  which  stands  where  stood  the  tree  to 
which  the  boy  was  bound  when  the  unerring  shaft  was  sped.  We 
saw  the  starting-point  of  the  St.  Gotthard  railway,  and  much  of 
the  finest  scenery  along  the  lake  shores,  before  it  enters  the  tun- 
nels and  starts  over  the  high  mountains. 

One  day,  while  at  Lucerne,  we  went  with  some  friends  to  Minnie 
Hauk's  lovely  villa.  She  is  a  baroness  now,  and  does  not  sing  in 
public  any  more.  She  sang  for  us,  and  her  voice  is  rich  and 
sweet.     She  is  charming  as  ever,  and  apparently  so  happy  in  her 


82  A  Woman's  Wanpekings. 

surroundings  that  she  does  not  miss  the  old  life,  and  differs  from 
Patti  in  this  respect. 

We  crossed  the  Brunig  Pass;  thence  up  the  steeper  grades  from 
Lucerne  to  Gisryl.  the  summit,  —  then  to  Meiringen,  and  Lake 
Brienz,  where  we  took  steamer  to  Interlaken.  There  had  been 
a  fall  of  snow  the  night  previous,  on  the  high  mountains,  and 
they  were  doublj^  beautiful,  as  they  had  ]>een  rather  bare  after  the 
long  summer.  Rain,  lower  down,  had  filled  the  streams,  and 
everywhere  there  were  falls  and  cascades,  dashing  down  the 
rocky  defiles,  over  precipices,  gliding  swiftly  by  some  dwellings  — 
for  by  almost  every  tiny  stream  one  sees  the  huts  and  herds, 
away  up  even  to  the  snow-line. 

Much  of  the  romance  attached  to  the  Swiss  rluVet  disappears 
when  one  visits  a  home  where  house.  Ixirn,  and  stables  are  all 
under  one  roof.  There  are  no  comfortable,  sweet  cottages. 
They  are  cramped  and  miserable,  ill-smelling,  unventilated,  l>ut 
the  people  have  to  labor  hard,  and  the  most  rigid  economy 
prevails.  But  this  much  for  the  people:  we  saw  no  tramps 
and  no  l)eggars,  and  that  covers  a  multitude  of  smells,  or  sins, 
as  you  like. 

Interlaken  I  should  descrilie  as  a  town  of  hotels  and  wood- 
carvers.  The  array  of  omnilmses  at  the  station  startles  one 
at  first,  but  when  we  think  that  no  place  in  Switzerland  is 
so  tourist-haunted,  we  cease  to  wonder,  —  in  fact,  if  I  were  called 
to  answer  a  question  in  regard  to  the  country,  I  would  sa}^ 
that  it  consists  of  mountains,  streams,  and  hotels.  It  imports 
tourists,  exports  scenery  or]  liJ).,  according  to  capacity  of  carrier. 
They  build  magnificent  hotels.  If  there  is  a  point  on  any 
peak,  however  inaccessible,  they  proceed  to  make  it  accessible  by 
running  a  railroad  to  the  top.  There  is  nothing  they  will 
not  attempt,  and  usually  succeed  in,  to  make  it  delightful  for 
pleasure-loving  people.  This  has  especial  reference  to  the  road 
they  are  pushing  to  completion  up  that  great,  beautiful  moun- 
tain, the  Jungfrau. 

We  went  one  morning  ]>y  rail  to  the  beautiful  Lauterbrunnen 

Valley,  which  is  literally  a    valley  of  springs,  past  the    lovely 

Staubback  falls.    But  falls  were  everywhere,  coming  downward  in 

chaos,   in  curves,    in   leaps,    water    storming    against    obstacles, 

oamy  white  masses,  bolting  down  in  a  sort  of  mad  joy  of  utter 


SWITZKKLANI).  83 

strength,  to  (luiet  down  wlien  the  river  was  reached  and  ripi)le 
sweetly  along  the  verdant  l)anks. 

We  changed  to  a  rack  and  pinion  railway,  whose  cars  are  l)nilt 
for  steep  grades,  and  the  engines,  each  and  every  one,  1  remarked, 
had  its  back  up  and  head  low  down  to  the  rails.  So  we  went  up 
the  steep  slopes  of  the  Jungfrau,  above  the  valley,  the  falls,  up 
through  dense  forests,  then  past  those  to  regions  of  snow  and  ice. 
Again  we  changed  to  an  electric  road,  went  to  the  Eiger  glacier, 
and  past  that  through  enormous  tunnels,  to  the  entl  of  the  road, 
on  which  work  has  been  stopped  for  the  season. 

The  snows  of  winter  there  lay  deep  on  the  ground — eternal  ice 
and  snow  were  around  us,  a  gorgeous,  solemn  world  about  us. 
Above  towered  the  Jungfrau,  Eiger,  Monch,  and  Matterhorn,  won- 
derful in  beauty,  in  the  almost  blinding  whiteness  of  the  fresh, 
new^  snows  that  covered  the  ground  and  the  glaciers,  save  the 
deep  crevices.  We  were  some  eight  thousand  feet  above  the 
lower  world,  and  had  come  by  magic,  it  seemed.  We  realized 
what  these  people  had  done;  how  easy  it  was  now  to  attain 
heights  before  unattainable,  save  for  the  few.  In  a  year  or  two 
more,  electricity  will  reach  the  desired  point,  and  the  summit  of 
the  Jungfrau  be  as  easily  reached  as  the  meadows  l)elow. 

We  went  down  the  slopes  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  to 
Grindelwald,  returning  through  the  Lutschine,  so  narrow  a  val- 
ley that  the  sun  is  scarcely  seen  at  all;  down  to  more  level  pla- 
teaus, where  the  herds  browse  on  the  rich  meadows,  every  one 
possessing  a  bell,  l;)ig  or  little.  Each  cow,  calf,  and  goat  has  his 
own  sweet-sounding  klingle-klangle,  and  the  cadence  comes  to  us 
soft  and  clear  through  the  still  atmosphere.  These  are  un- 
changed, but  the  shrill  shriek  of  the  engines  have  driven  out  the 
melody  of  the  Alpine  horn,  and  only  now  and  then  a  faint  yodel 
comes  to  the  ear.  Steam  and  electricity  build  uj)  in  some  re- 
spects, but  destroy  much  that  is  sweet  in  others. 

Berne,  its  clock  and  bears,  the  beautiful  river  Aar,  came  next; 
then  Lausanne  and  the  steep  slopes  of  Mont  Jorat,  covered  with 
vines  and  terraces,  old  walls  where  the  grapes  hang  in  luscious 
purple  clusters;  Vevey,  Montreux,  Chillon,  Clarens.  This  is  one 
of  the  most  talked  of  corners  of  the  globe.  Rosseau,  Byron,  and 
others  have  made  it  famous.  Artists  have  })ut  on  canvases  the 
loveliness  hard  to  descri):>e. 


84  A  "Woman's  Wandering?. 

I  yield  cheerfully,  and  p  luse  to  re-t  at  Geneva,  which  we 
found  rather  quiet  now.  Few  tourists  are  coming  so  late  in 
the  season;  many  are  leaving,  and  we  are  glad  the  rush  is  over. 
I  pity  people  who  come  here  next  year;  there  will  be  such  a 
crowd  that  it  will  not  be  half  so  pleasant.  I  am  glad  we  did 
not  arrive  earlier,  the  season  being  virtually  over.  At  our  hotel 
they  knew  it  also,  and  desired  to  make  it  up,  it  seemed,  for 
while  our  rooms  were  reasonable,  we  were  told  we  must  take 
three  meals  per  day  in  the  house,  or  pay  double  for  the  rooms. 
This,  being  essentially  unlike  the  European  plan,  suited  us  not 
at  all.  I  asked  the  proprietor  if  tourists  came  to  Geneva  simply 
to  eat  three  meals  per  day.  He  did  not  seem  to  know;  but 
when  he  insisted,  I  told  him  he  must  have  better  things  to  eat 
before  we  could  idle  time  away  and  grace  his  board  with  our 
presence,  and  in  this,  as  in  most  cases,  we  were  victorious. 
Fancy  such  a  ruling  when  one  is  usually  miles  away  from 
the  hotel  at  the  lunch  hour. 

The  city  is  well  lighted  by  electricity,  the  rapid  Rhone 
affording  the  necessary  power.  We  saw  houses  built  along  the 
river  for  laundry  purposes.  Saw  the  women  here,  as  every- 
where in  Switzerland,  doing  the  washing  in  the  icy  cold  waters, 
down  on  their  knees,  in  back-breakihg  attitudes,  scrubbing  the 
clothes  on  a  board  or  smooth  stone.  No  hot  water  at  all 
—  how  they  do  it  or  clean  the  clothes  is  a  mystery;  but,  look- 
ing at  the  poor  creatures'  hands  and  arms,  blue  and  purple 
from  cold,  many  with  dreadful  sores  on  their  hands,  it  seems 
barbarous.  They  are  so  up  to  date  in  some  things,  centu- 
ries behind  in  others ! 

From  Geneva  we  went  by  rail  to  St.  Gervais;  thence  by 
diligence  to  Chamonix.  We  enjoyed  the  drive  and  views  much 
better  than  by  rail;  but  the  whole  distance  will,  in  a  year 
or  so,  be  spanned  by  iron  rails,  and  part  of  the  charm  will 
vanish.  Tunnels  and  gorges  will  shut  out  much  that  is  seen 
from  the  top  of  a  coach. 

I  think  no  one  could  ever  describe  the  sensations,  the  emo- 
tions, produced  by  the  first  clear,  full  view  of  Chamonix  and 
Mont  Blanc.  This  is  the  loftiest  mountain  in  Europe;  the  vale 
written  of  in  song  and  in  story.  Yet  how  little  one  knows 
of    it    who    has    not   seen    it.      One   is    led    up    to   it   from    one 


SwiTZKRLANl).  85 

place  to  another,  enjoying  all,  each  portion  of  Switzerland 
in  its  way,  but  this  is  the  culmination  of  all;  hope's  fruition, 
peace  and  rest;  things  hoped  for,  and  seen  and  understood  at 
Chamonix.  The  great  white,  beautiful  Thing  rising  up  out  of 
the  worn,  tired  old  world  we  had  come  from,  pure  and  fresii, 
as  if  just  created — it  was  as  if  the  bolt  had  been  shot  l)ack, 
and  through  the  door  of  the  heart  came  sights  that  cannot  be 
described.  There  was  that  same  silent  force,  solemnity,  and 
strength  accentuated,  if  possible,  when  we  stood  out  in  the  cool 
night  air  and  saw  those  heights  bathed  in  the  glory  of  the  full 
moon.  The  giant  outlines  seemed  nearer  than  in  the  liright- 
ness  of  sunset;  a  red  light  that  flashed  and  burned  from  the 
Grand  Mulcts  over  six  thousand  feet  up  the  slope,  gleamed  like 
Mars  in  the  heavens  in  the  dask  of  the  evening,  and  seemingly 
as  unattainable.  Everything  was  quiet,  calm,  and  peaceful,  so 
sleep  was  very  sweet  that  night. 

We  were  awakened  the  next  morning  to  see  the  sunrise,  and, 
wrapped  in  the  blankets  taken  from  the  beds,  for  the  night  had 
been  frosty,  we  watched  the  first  red  bars  flash  across  those  fields 
of  snow,  faint  and  roseate  first,  then  a  radiance  vast,  broadening, 
clearing  the  white  vapors,  so  that  my  breath  was  taken  wdth  the 
grandeur  and  sublimity  of  the  scene. 

Later  on  we  made  the  trip  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  accompanied 
by  a  part}'  of  English  people,  most  of  whom  preferred  to  go  on 
foot.  We  chose  mules,  and  two  of  the  party,  pitying  us,  perhaps, 
because  we  could  not  understand  the  joy  of  climbing  some  six 
thousand  feet  when  a  mule  could  do  it  better,  kindly  went  with 
us.  We  certainly  chose  the  better  part,  as  the  way  was  rocky, 
steep,  and  tortuous,  nothing  like  the  trail  leading  uj)  to  Glacier 
Point  from  Yosemite;  Init  the  guide  insisted  we  were  safer  than 
on  the  railway,  so  we  took  him  at  his  word;  let  the  beasts  have 
their  own  way,  and  arrived  at  Montanvert  after  a  two  hours' 
climb,  in  time  for  a  short  rest  and  luncheon. 

Afterwards  we  sat  on  the  elevated  cliffs  overlooking  that  icy 
sea,  which  to  me  looked  much  more  like  a  river  than  a  sea.  It 
seemed  as  if  we  had  come  into  full  summer;  a  soft,  sensuous  haze 
bathed  the  peaks,  softening  the  glory  of  noontime,  sunshine,  and 
silence.  This  seemed  a  temple  of  peace,  vast,  clear,  calm;  no 
discords  jarred  the  harmony;  the  breeze  came  warm  and  mild; 


86  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

even  in  that  elevated  region  the  sky  stretched  away  like  a  beau- 
tiful sea,  unspotted,  cloudless,  a  shadowless  day;  a  day  to  be  re- 
membered—  one  that  it  would  be  a  joy  to  live  again,  and  yet  it 
is  better,  perhaps,  not  to  destroy  first  impressions. 

We  walked  down  the  cliffs  and  on  the  moraine;  then  the  guide 
drew  stockings  over  our  shoes  and  we  went  on  the  Mer  de  Glace. 
From  above  it  looked  rather  smooth,  and  I  said  I  knew  I  could 
cross  it  alone.  He  laughed,  and  said  "Impossible."  I  knew  how 
impossible  when  once  on  its  treacherous  ice.  Slippery  under  the 
hot  sun,  great  crevasses  yawning  everywhere,  a  single  misstep, 
and  there  would  be  no  inquest,  or  need  of  a  consultation  of  doc- 
tors to  pronounce  the  case  hopeless. 

The  guide  put  his  arm  around  me,  took  my  hand,  and  tried  to 
force  me  across  a  crevasse.  It  might  have  been  easy,  but  I  had 
read  of  one  woman  who  lost  her  life,  she  and  the  guide  going 
down  together  b}^  such  foolishness;  so  I  tore  myself  from  his 
grasp,  and  would,  perhaps,  have  been  forced,  for  the  fellow  had 
been  drinking  something  stronger  than  water,  had  not  one  of  the 
party  interfered.  Or  perhaps  he  wanted  to  frighten  me,  as  I  had 
boasted  I  could  go  alone.  The  wine  of  the  atmosphere  was  in 
my  veins;  I  was  ready  to  do  and  dare  anything  while  on  the 
cliffs. 

It  was  different  down  on  that  vast  river  of  ice,  tossed  and  tum- 
bled, smoother  in  the  center,  but  piled  high  on  the  sides  in  all 
manner  of  strange  shapes.  We  came  up  from  those  billowy 
masses,  in  whose  crevasses  lurk  danger,  yet  looking  so  lovely  in 
the  depths,  where  glow  tints  and  colors  beggaring  description, 
and  sat  for  hours  enjoying  a  scene  that  was  worth  the  while,  the 
time,  and  trouble  to  see.  The  trip  to  the  glacier  was  hard,  but 
worth  the  climb. 

Then  we  mounted  our  mules  and  went  down  the  steep  declivi- 
ties, so  much  harder  in  the  descent  than  going  up.  We  left 
those  awful-looking  peaks  and  marvelous,  glistening  fields; 
"  whiter  than  snow,"  the  Scripture  says,  but  never  before  had  I 
understood  the  meaning  until  I  saw  Mont  Blanc.  It  was  light 
materialized  and  snow  etherealized;  on,  in  the  delicious  coolness 
of  the  afternoon  breeze  sighing  through  the  forests;  a  faint  per- 
fume filled  the  air;  down  from  the  heights,  where  grow  the  lonely 
edelweiss,  to  green  fields,  from  a  day  of  isolation  on  those  fields 


Gkkmany.  87 

of  snow,  to  tilt'  lift'  in  tlif  lit  tit'  villaiif.  Night  closftl  arDund  us, 
antl.  half  tlrt'aniinjj,-,  I  heard  the  ripijliiiir  water  of  the  Arve,  antl 
there  stole  thrt)ugh  the  easement  a  low.  sweet,  ilro|»pin<i  nieloily, 
a  tender  somethinsj;  of  ^[t)zart's.  that  sootheil  the  tired  hrain, 
took  away  fatiiiue,  and  wafted  nie  to  a  harhoi'  t)f  for<i;etfulness  as 
none  other  eould. 

Chamonix,  the  peaceful  village  straggling  alt)ng  its  one  long 
street,  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past.  We  will  never  forget  the  quiet 
little  town  on  the  Arve,  or  the  great  frozen  rivers  of  ice  that  start 
from  unseen  heights  al)Ove  and  reach  down  almost  to  the  green 
valley.  We  looked  on  Mont  Blanc  through  the  l>ig  telescope  that 
took  us  up  step  l)y  step  past  the  Grand  Mulcts  on  to  the  Observa- 
tory, following  a  party  who  were  toiling  up  those  terrible  steeps, 
and  were  well  content  to  follow  them  through  the  telescope. 

We  went  from  Chamonix  in  a  private  carriage  over  the  Tete 
Noir.  There  were  masses  of  white  fog  filling  the  valley  and  deep 
gorges.  But  noAv  and  then  there  would  be  a  lifting  of  the  curtain, 
and  far  up  and  up  into  a  floating  world  were  peaks  showing 
above  those  fog-wreaths,  the  yellow  crags  piercing  the  blue  vaults 
of  heaven.  We  had  glimpses  of  glaciers  and  rivers  of  ice  in 
lonely,  awful  splendor  —  the  solemn  world  of  snow — ^a  vision  of 
isolation,  of  desolation,  and  remoteness  that  awed  me  by  the 
majesty  of  it. 

We  found  the  Tete  Noir  road  the  worst  we  had  encountered  in 
Europe.  It  rained  a  portion  of  the  way,  but  we  were  well  pro- 
tected, and  so  were  comfortable.  It  cleared  up  about  the  miihlle 
of  the  day,  giving  us  a  good  view  of  the  Glacier  du  Trient,  where 
ice  is  taken  and  sent  to  Paris.  It  appears  they  have  a  prejudice 
against  manufactured  ice,  so  go  to  infinite  pains  to  get  it  from 
the  dirty  glaciers. 

The  descent  into  the  Rhone  Valley  from  there  was  good.  De- 
lightful windings  to  and  fro  among  walnut  and  chestnut  trees 
heavily  laden  with  nuts,  gave  evidence  of  a  change  of  climate. 
Past  the  old  St.  Bernard  road  Ave  went  down  to  the  l)eautiful, 
fertile  valley  and  on  to  Martigny,  where  we  gladly  changed  to 
the  Jura-Simplon  railway,  and  went  on  past  vine-clad  slopes 
and  vistas  of  far-off  mountains,  and  watched  the  river  glint  and 
sparkle  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun.  Viege  came,  then  Brieg, 
the  end  of  the  railroad. 


88  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

It  seemed  we  had  scarcely  slept  ])efore  we  were  called  tn  l)reak- 
fast  —  the  l)reakfast  of  the  country  —  In-ead,  l)Utter,  honey,  and  a 
liquid  something  called  coffee.  The  female  gar^on  was  far  more 
interested  in  her  "tip"  than  in  the  making  of  coffee.  We  have 
learned,  however,  that  outside  of  Germany  one  need  not  hope  for 
coffee.     Other   things  than   the   mere   living  to   eat  interest   us. 

Soon  after  daylight  we  were  shown  our  seats  reserved  for  us  on 
the  top  of  a  diligence,  and  we  were  on  the  road  to  Italy.  Forty- 
one  miles  in  ten  hours,  at  an  altitude  of  some  seven  thousand 
feet,  was  mapped  out  for  the  day.  It  was  not  so  fatiguing  as  we 
feared,  and  it  certainly  repaid  us  for  the  troulile.  Iteing  far  more 
enjoyahle  than  the  railroad  and  tunnels  on  other  routes. 

Up  and  uy)  we  go  over  the  l)road.  lieautiful  road  that  Napo- 
leon 1)uilt  one  hundred  years  ago.  We  leave  the  Rhone 
Valley  l)athed  in  a  soft,  sensuous  light,  and  the  Bernese 
Alps  and  glaciers.  There  were  lakes  looking  like  magnified 
dewdrops  in  miniature  valleys.  Then  came  pictures  of  more 
desolate  regions.  Avalanches  and  storms  are  dreadful  later  in 
the  season,  and  here,  in  the  midst  of  this  rugged,  barren  region, 
is  the  Hospice,  similar  to  that  of  the  8t.  Bernard.  Here  we 
paused  to  look  through  the  Iniilding,  and  petted  the  great 
dogs,  idle  now,  Ijut  in  winter  often  are  sent  out  in  the  terrible 
storms,  bringing  the  bewildered  travelers  to  a  haven  of  rest  and 
safety. 

A  little  farther  on,  even  before  I  noticed  a  change  in  the  peaks 
and  rugged  hills,  I  felt  the  air  had  just  a  suspicion  of  warmth, 
which  comes  with  the  opening  of  spring,  wdiere  winter  is  known, 
then  we  entered  the  Gorge  of  Gondo,  rugged  and  wild  as  the 
Gorge  of  the  Yellowstone,  Init  not  in  coloring  or  l)eauty  is  there 
the  slightest  resemlilance.  The  Diveria,  in  pent-up  fury,  dashed 
over  a  rocky  bed  with  savage  leaps  and  surges,  threatening  to 
bring  down  from  those  perilous,  overhanging  crags,  acres  of  rock 
that  seem  to  quiver  and  shake  as  the  added  rum])le  of  the  dili- 
gence strikes  the  wall.  A  sudden  turn,  and,  as  if  l)y  magic, 
the  perils  are  over.  I  see  the  well-remembered  trellised  vines 
stretched  from  tree  to  tree;  see  the  tints  of  autumn  on  the  leaves, 
the  great  chestnuts  and  pale  grav  olives,  a  warm,  sweet,  fragrant 
breath  of  air,  and  now  I  know  once  again,  after  so  many  years. 
Italy  is  mine. 


ITALY. 

At  Domo  d' Ossola  our  route  by  diligence  ends.  On  the  mor- 
row we  went  l)y  rail  to  Lake  Maggiore,  stopping  at  Palan/.a.  On 
a  former  visit  I  made  the  tour  of  the  Italian  lakes.  In  Fel»ruary, 
I  remember,  the  daphnes  and  crimson  camelias  were  in  ])lo()m 
here,  and  around  Como.  also,  crocuses,  snowdrops,  and  prim- 
roses were  in  evidence  everywhere.  Now  September  is  nearly 
gone,  and  there  is  nothing  to  show  the  advent  of  fall  excei>t  the 
vines,  loaded  with  great  clusters  of  purple  grapes,  and  the  tints 
on  the  foliage;  a  rich  In-own  is  on  the  chestnut  burrs,  all  of 
which  proves  that  in  Italy,  as  in  our  own  state,  the  meaning  of 
the  term  "  winter  "  is  scarcely  known. 

We  go  by  steamer  across  Maggiore,  past  the  palace  and  ter- 
raced gardens  liuilt  over  a  century  ago  by  Count  Borromeo  on 
Isola  Bella,  the  fairest  of  all  the  islands.  Then  came  Arona, — 
a  journey  in  cars  crowded  with  people,  not  over-clean,  not  over- 
sweet  in  appearance  or  manners.  1)ut  it  was  not  long  ere  we  were 
free  from  all  ills  and  odors.  Milan  was  reached.  We  asked  no 
more. 

It  seemed  like  home — this  wandering  about  the  streets  of 
Milan.  First  there  were  the  electric  cars  everywhere.  Where 
the  old  line  of  omnilnises  used  to  start  from  the  Duomo.  the 
cars  with  clanging  Ijells  now  run.  There  were  fruit-shops,  and 
sellers  with  baskets  of  grapes,  peaches,  figs,  and  pomegranates 
—  only,  I  must  add,  more  temptingly  arranged  than  at  home. 
Whether  in  baskets  or  placed  on  the  taldes.  they  are  always  with 
the  leaves  of  the  grape-vines,  or  other  leaves,  fresh  and  green, 
making  the  fruit  more  tempting. 

The  Cathedral  of  Milan  comes  first,  I  fancy,  for  each  and  every 
tourist.  As  seen  from  the  roof,  the  many  pinnacles  and  thou- 
sands of  statues  seem  like  a  bare,  white,  frozen  forest,  made 
beautiful  by  frost-like  network,  and  an  over-abundance  of  orna- 
ment, flying  buttresses,  fruits,  flowers,  and  cherul)S.  The  whole 
is  of  such  exquisite  finish  that  it  seems  more  the  work  of  the 
frost  king  than  of  real  hands. 

Looking  from  this  vantage-point  over  the  Lombardy  plains, 
level  and  fertile.  I  see  this,  the  richest  city  in  Italy,  below  me. 

8it 


90  A  Woman's  Wandkki.ngs. 

Away  toward  the  west,  the  Himplon  Mountains  and  Monte  Rosa 
sparkle  with  eternal  snow,  and  show,  as  the  sun  goes  down,  the 
roses  from  wliich  it  derives  its  name.  There  are  the  roads  lined 
by  the  tall  ])oplars,  standing  in  rows  like  soldiers;  also  the  mul- 
berry trees,  exclusively  cultivated  for  rearing  silk-worms.  This 
is  a  rich  and  highly  cultivated  country  of  luxuriant  vegetation, 
inclosed  in  a  semi-circle  of  snowy  Alps,  with  the  Apennines  fill- 
ing a  portion  of  the  remaining  horizon. 

Once  more  down  into  the  church,  I  see  the  great  pillars,  which 
still  keep  up  the  illusion  of  a  forest  reaching  to  the  roof,  bare 
and  branchless.  I  see  long  shafts  of  light  gleam  through  the 
lofty  stained-glass  windows,  touching  a  sculptured  angel  here, 
falling  on  some  pictured  saint  there,  and  glowing  in  mellow  rich- 
ness on  the  head  of  a  poor  old  man,  worn  and  weary,  as  he  sat 
with  bowed  head,  listening  to  the  music  that  came  soft  and  sweet 
from  the  organ.  It  brought  comfort  and  warmth,  and  he  slept; 
perhaps  his  dreams  were  not  of  his  poverty  or  hunger,  but  of 
that  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding. 

And  then  we  Avent  to  Venice  —  over  the  Lombardy  plains, 
past  villages  and  villas,  thickly  dotting  the  landscape.  Trees 
were  everywhere  bordering  the  small  fields  or  gardens.  Grape- 
vines were  planted  beside  them,  thus  occupying  very  little  room, 
and  were  trained  in  graceful  festoons  from  tree  to  tree.  The  clus- 
ters of  grapes  were  hanging  so  thick  they  seemed  purple  streaks, 
as  we  sped  by.  Great  cream-colored  oxen,  with  black-tipped 
horns,  do  the  work  in  the  fields,  instead  of  horses.  Now  and 
then  I  saw  girls  in  picturesque  costumes  gathering  grapes,  and 
twining  vines  about  the  horns  of  those  patient  brown-eyed  beasts. 

There  is  a  glint  of  gold  on  the  fallow  fields,  and  the  breeze 
strikes  a  few  of  the  colored  leaves  —  the  first  of  autumn's  reap- 
ing—  to  the  ground.  There  are  aromatic  smells  in  the  air,  and 
the  sunshine  glitters  on  the  leaves,  turning  to  red  and  yellow. 
Birds  chirrup  and  flutter.  The  children  trudge  on,  singing  with 
the  birds.  They  are  poor,  often  wretchedly  so.  But  it  is  a  poetic 
poverty  —  a  poverty  as  unlike  Russia  as  day  is  from  night. 
There  is  a  touch  of  sunlight  in  the  soul  —  a  bit  of  song  bubbling 
up  from  tlie  heart  —  a  cheerfulness,  though  accustomed  to  bur- 
dens and  privations  —  that  make  life  for  them  a  sort  of  holiday, 
unknown  and  undri-annMl  of  in  colder  countries. 


Italy.  91 

We  pass  thrDUiili  Cremona,  which  reminds  us  of  the  sweet-toned 
violins  made  there  long  ago;  and  Verona,  the  birthplace  of  Paul 
Veronese,  —  which  also  contains  the  "  veritable"  tomb  of  Juliet, 

—  a  rude  sarcophagus,  which  I  remember  so  well  on  a  former 
visit.  Then  to  Lago  di  Gardi,  along  whose  southern  shores  grow 
oranges,  lemons,  and  olives,  past  Solferino  and  its  celebrated 
battle-field. 

We  pause  at  Padua,  famous  in  its  mediaeval  days,  as  now,  for 
its  university.  Among  the  alumni  of  long  ago  were  the  names  of 
Savonarola,  Tasso,  Petrarch,  and  Galileo,  with  many  others  the 
world  has  known,  and  been  made  richer  by  their  knowledge. 

Then  the  train  runs  along  a  bridge  for  two  miles.  There  is 
water  sparkling  and  crisp  about  us.  The  smell  of  the  salt  seas 
comes  to  us,  and  we  are  in  Venice,  ourselves  and  bags  transferred 
as  by  magic  to  a  gondola  —  and  we  go  up  that  Grand  Canal  of 
which  the  whole  world  knows,  and  finally  step  from  it  to  our 
hotel,  where  we  must  rest  and  sleep  before  allowing  ourselves 
time  to  think  further. 

In  Venice,  and  away  from  the  soul-torturing  rattle  of  the  cob- 
blestones, is  my  awakening  thought.  No  sound  of  horses'  feet  or 
metallic  jangle  of  street-car  bells,  or  ear-piercing  whistles  as  used 
is  cities,  are  here.  My  window  faces  the  laguna  and  Grand  Canal, 
and  I  dream  hours  away,  dolce  far  niente,  manana  —  everything 
that  breathes  of  absence  of  thought  or  action  I  encourage.  This 
is  to  be  the  haven  of  rest  from  thought  or  bodily  fatigue.  I  have 
dropped  my  anchor  in  a  harbor  of  inaction,  of  placid  content,  and 
shall  not  hurry  to  take  it  up.  What  I  sliall  say  of  Venice  came 
to  me  through  no  effort  or  will  of  my  own.     I  simply  imbibed 

—  absorbed  it. 

Venice  is  a  paradise  for  lazy,  gouty,  or  rheumatic  people. 
There  is  no  need  of  walking  unless  one  wishes.  A  gondola,  ridic- 
ulously cheap,  is  always  ready.  We  would  glide  out  on  the  quiet 
waters,  past  the  Ducal  Palace,  that  great  work  of  Venice,  past 
grand  old  churches  and  historical  palaces,  many  of  which  are 
converted  into  hotels,  while  others  are  used  for  manufacturing 
glass,  mosaics,  silks,  and  laces.  We  see  Desdemona's  palace, 
Mocenigo,  where  Byron  lived  so  long,  and  not  alone,  either,  if  his- 
tory speaks  the  truth.  We  see  Browning's  house,  and  the  Rialto, 
that  for  three  hundred  vears  was  the  onlvbrid"[e  across  the  Grand 


92 


A  Woman's  Wanderings. 


Canal.  There  are  two  others  now.  of  steel,  and  very  much  in 
keeping  with  the  small,  modern  steamhoats  which  i)ly  the  canal, 
spoiling  the  Venice  of  old,  the  city  of  the  sea. 


" /^ 


"SJ 


RIALTO    BRIDGE,    VEMCE. 


Wlien  we  have  no  further  excuse  for  laziness,  we  go  to  the 
piazza  of  St.  Mark's  and  watch  the  thousands  of  pigeons  filling 
the  square.  They  flutter  ahout  us,  feed  from  our  hands,  as  tliey 
do  always  if  one  secures  corn  from  the  sellers,  with  l)askets  filled 
for  that  purpose. 

The  doves  of  St.  Mark's  !  They  have  been  written  of  so  often, 
and  the  idea  is  pretty  and  poetic.  They  look  timid,  Init  are  not. 
They  are  protected  l)y  the  city,  however,  and  cared  for.  I  noticed 
it  took  a  man,  a  broom,  and  cart  to  clear  away  the  filth,  and  the 
man  was  kept  very  Inisy,  too,  keeping  the  square  clean. 

Then  we  go  into  the  old  church  of  St.  Mark's,  that  has  stood 
there  in  the  sea  for  nine  hundred  years,  the  great  composite  pile, 
Byzantine,  Gothic,  Renaissance  —  a  structure  to  suit  varied 
tastes.  We  see  the  pictures  in  mosaics  —  a  whole  acre,  the  books 
say.  We  see  gilding,  bronze,  and  marl>le  in  bewildering  con- 
fusion.   Then  music  steals  from  up  toward  the  great  central  dome, 


Itai.v.  93 

and  we  lii^teii,  and  wattdi  the  jicojde  who  come  to  worship.  I 
look  at  the  myriad  of  sight-seein<i-  travelers  armed  with  red  l)ooks, 
or  escorted  by  guides,  who  Inisily  exjjlaiii  the  treasures,  for  they 
are  thrifty,  and  do  not  wait  for  an  intermission  here.  It  is 
allowed  and  sanctioneil,  else  it  would  not  be  done,  but  it  seems 
horribly  out  of  place  to  see  a  guide  piloting  a  crowd  up  to  the 
altars  where  })eople  kneel  at  jirayers.  It  may  suit  some  if  not 
all. 

I  saw  a  devout  sinner  in  a  pretty  gray  gown  come  in,  cross  her- 
self, and  kneel  before  the  great  altar,  then  begin  to  arrange  her 
veil  and  pat  her  hair,  all  the  while  looking  about  to  see  the  effect 
she  produced.  If  no  sacred  thought  of  time  and  place  came  to 
her,  she  should,  for  decency,  have  bowed  her  head  while  kneehng 
there,  and  given  thanks  for  being  permitted  to  be  in  the  house  of 
God,  —  one  made  by  hands.  And  to  those  hands  and  the  brain 
that  conceived  the  wonderful  edifice,  that  built  and  planned  its 
arches,  columns,  and  rods  of  mosaics,  from  its  tessellated  floors  to 
the  vast  yaulted  dome  —  to  that  intellect  and  the  giants  of  the 
past,  she  should  have  worshiped,  if  no  other  thoughts  came  to 
her. 

But  there  were  others.  I  saw  old  men  and  women  come  in 
feebly,  the  lengthened  shadows  of  life's  late  afternoon  showing 
on  worn  faces  and  bent  forms.  I  saw  tiny  feet,  in  stockings  full 
of  holes,  shuffle  across  the  marble  floor.  They  had  not  come 
there  to  be  seen  of  men,  but  for  peace  and  comfort. 

And  then  from  the  dim  altars  out  in  the  bright  sunshine.  We 
sat  in  the  square  and  watched  the  crowds  loiter  along  the  arcades 
filled  with  shops  and  restaurants,  heard  the  low  "  currooing  "  of 
the  pigeons,  saw  the  great  bronze  men  on  the  clock-tower  strike 
the  hour  with  massive  hammers  on  the  bell,  which  sounds  so 
loud  and  clear  that  it  is  heard  all  over  the  city.  There  were 
days  spent  in  the  churches  and  galleries,  where  is  much  that  is 
good.  The  best  of  many  artists  are  found  —  Titian,  Tintoretto, 
Bellini,  Paul  Veronese  —  too  many  paintings  to  even  speak  of 
the  best. 

I  saw  them  making  exquisite  lace  —  old  Venetian  and  rose 
point,  rococo  and  renaissance  —  in  fact,  a  wonderful  variety. 
One  firm  alone  has  four  thousand  people  at  work  on  laces, 
brocades,  and  velvets.     The    manager    kindly    took    us  through 


94  A  Womain's  Wanderings. 

the  various  departments^.  The  lace-makers  work  about  six  hours 
a  day.  Their  eyes  will  admit  of  no  longer  hours,  as  it  is  such 
delicate  work.  They  get  a  trifle  over  fifteen  cents  per  day. 
Yet  the  girls  looked  neat,  tidy,  and  were  happy  to  get  the  work. 

We  also  saw  them  making  the  beautiful  Venetian  glassware 
—  whole  chandeliers  for  gas  and  electricity — out  of  the  fairy- 
like material,  yet  it  is  strong  and  serviceable. 

We  saw  everywhere  old  palaces  now  used  for  manufacturing 
pur}>oses  or  depots  for  storing  or  selling  l)ronzes,  marbles,  works 
of  art,  etc. 

Wood-carving  seems  to  have  reached  the  perfection  of  art 
here.  It  is  not  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  exhibits  of  to-day  are 
as  good  as  those  adorning  churches  and  palaces  done  centuries 
gone  by. 

We  went  through  the  Doge's  Palace  as  in  duty  l)ound,  which 
lioasts  of  the  largest  picture  ever  painted  on  canvas  —  Tinto- 
retto's Paradise.  I  hardly  know  why  they  set  store  ])y  it,  save 
perhaps  for  the  fact  that  Venetians  were  the  first  to  })aint  pic- 
tures on  canvas,  and  are  proud  of  this  eighty-four  feet  of  i)ara- 
dise.  I  tliink  Tintoretto  was  the  only  man  who  brought  a  gleam 
of  paradise  in  that  old  Iniilding.  It  is  Init  a  step  from  those 
rooms  to  the  old  prison,  the  dreadful  dungeons,  the  old  stair- 
case and  lion's  mouth,  all  scenes  of  deeds  in  days  gone  by,  that 
even  at  the  end  of  this  century  make  one  shudder. 

I  go  out  and  sit  in  the  streets  on  the  Riva,  glad  to  be  out 
of  the  dismal  place.  The  bright  waters  of  the  Adriatic  lap  the 
foundations.  There  is  peace  and  quietness  in  the  air;  people 
singing,  laughing,  happy,  and  content.  Yet  there  are  some  who 
say  the  world  is  growing  worse.  I  thought  of  that  peaceful  vil- 
lage of  Chamonix,  where,  not  so  very  long  ago,  men  and  women 
were  grilled  and  liurnt  alive  for  so-called  heresy.  Looking  now 
at  St.  Mark's  Square  to  the  palace  and  prison,  one  cannot 
realize  that  such  atrocious  deeds  or  cruelties  could  ever  have 
been  perpetrated  here. 

I  see  a  sunset  the  radiance  of  which  gilds  and  illumines 
the  city,  the  people,  and  the  beautiful  sea  with  a  glory  that 
promises  even  better  things  for  the  future,  and  I  am  thankful 
that  this  is  the  age  of  rest  and  freedom  from  superstition  and 
like  ills. 


Italy.  95 

I  rememluT  a  day  when  we  sailed  over  the  l)hie-,<;ray  lagu- 
nas  to  Chioggia  and  ssaw  the  fishermen's  fleet.  I  tliink  there 
can  be  nothing  so  i>icturesque  in  the  way  of  boats  in  the  world, 
with  their  sails  in  all  shades  of  yellows  and  brownish-reds. 
There  are  panels  and  painted  designs  in  sienna  and  sei)ia,  all 
in  quiet  colorings,  and  nothing  that  seems  glaring  or  inappro- 
priate, yet  are  so  distinct  that  I  fancy  each  boat  is  known  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  follow  it.  It  looked  much  like  a  forest  in 
autumn,  so  thickly  they  dot  the  waters  near  the  island,  sailing 
in  the  narrow  channels,  skimming  over  the  tideless  sea;  sails 
that  make  artists  grow  wild  for  the  joy  of  painting.  We  saw 
the  queer  nets  used  for  fishing,  and  boys  —  veritable  cherubs, 
clothed  only  in  modesty,  and,  I  was  glad  to  see,  without  the 
wdngs  and  distorted  legs  as  seen  on  canvas  1)}^  "the  old  mas- 
ters"—  wading  in  the  water  with  nets  scooping  up  the  oysters. 

The  women  were  washing  in  the  streets,  drying  the  clothes 
which  were  always  fastened  in  some  way  on  the  front  of  the 
houses.  In  fact,  very  little  work  of  any  kind  seems  to  be 
done  indoors.  The  shoemaker  plys  his  trade  in  the  open  air, 
food  is  cooked  and  put  out  so  the  contadini  may  purchase 
for  a  few  cents  his  dinner  which  he  often  eats  while  standing. 
Others  have  a  loaf  stowed  away  somewhere,  and  liuying  a  bunch 
of  grapes,  the  dinner  is  complete. 

We  saw  the  immense  barges  laden  with  fruit  and  vegetables 
coming  from  the  small  but  exceedingly  fertile  islands  near, 
which  supply  the  smaller  villages  as  well  as  Venice  with  a 
great  portion  of  all  that  is  needed. 

Then  we  thought  it  time  for  luncheon.  I  had  been  given 
cards  before  landing,  from  some  hotel  or  restaurant,  stating 
that  the  restaurant  was  noted  for  '^  punctuality,  in  helping  at 
table,  comfort  in  cooking,  and  the  utmost  cheapness."  This 
cheapness  and  good  English  came  at  six  francs.  We  thought 
we  would  go  where  they  knew  no  English  and  cared  little 
about  punctuaUty.  We  found  a  cozy,  clean  place  kept  by  a 
native.  He  was  so  overjoyed  to  have  us  honor  him  that  his 
gesticulations  were  marvelous,  l)ut  I  found  they  were  not  in 
vain,  for  he  produced  some  one  who  knew  just  what  we  wanted  — 
oysters,  clams,  and  the  tiny  red  mullet  not  much  larger  than 
white  bait,  some  wine  in  bottles  covered  with  curiously  wrought 


9(3  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

reeds  and  wire,  the  outfit  looking  very  artistic  and  better  to 
me  than  the  contents. 

While  we  dallied  with  the  luncheon,  suddenly  through  the 
half-open  door  came  a  sound,  faint  as  far-off  bugles  blowing, 
sweet  and  low,  then  louder,  and  the  sound  revealed  itself  to 
be  some  stringed  instruments.  We  opened  the  door,  and  two 
poor,  ragged  old  musicians  stood  bowing  for  permission  to  pro- 
ceed. We  graciously  gave  assent,  and  it  seemed  scarcely  real, 
it  was  so  Avonderful,  those  weary,  earth-worn  old  musicians,  one 
almost  blind,  struggling  to  get  up  some  sentiment  of  half-for- 
gotten youth;  poor  old  pensioners,  playing  for  the  centessimi, 
securing  l)arely  enough,  it  seemed,  to  keep  from  starvation;  feeble, 
treml)ling.  jangling  notes  —  for  the  blind  man  sang  snatches 
from  operas,  and  in  singing  seemed  to  forget.  Standing  erect, 
his  gesture  savored  of  a  past  when  he  had  sung  before  crowded 
houses,  and  I  am  sure  he  thought  of  that  time  and  forgot  he 
was  old,  an  object  of  pity,  broken  with  time's  jarring  chords, 
which  were  all  wrong  in  the  poor  old  throat.  I  lost  interest  in 
the  fish  just  then,  for  I  found  my  eyes  w^ere  afloat  in  a  salt  sea  of 
their  own  creation.  I  declared  "time,"  and  begged  a  respite,  even 
though  the  guitars  were  sweet,  for  the  old  fingers  had  not 
forgotten  their  cunning,  even  if  the  voice  had  failed.  So  we 
made  them  happy  for  days  to  come,  for  I  am  sure  they  would 
have  no  thought  of  the  morrow,  or  a  need  of  it  for  some  time. 
W"e  were  pleased  to  have  heard  them  also  with  our  repast,  which 
was  so  different  from  the  stereotyped  affairs  offered  on  the  cards. 

^ye  looked  at  the  great  vats  used  for  pickling  fish,  the  corps  of 
men,  boys,  and  girls  carrying  them  from  point  to  point,  but  the 
odors  were  too  overpowering  for  further  knowledge. 

At  another  place  we  saw  immense  baskets  full  of  grapes,  always 
carried  by  two  men,  a  pole  through  the  handle,  placed  on  their 
shoulders,  as  I  had  seen  it  pictured  since  wine  was  first  thought 
of.  Idly  we  watched,  and  followed  to  see  where  they  put  them 
as  they  were  unloaded  from  the  barges.  In.  a  large  warehouse 
were  innumerable  barrels  of  all  sizes,  but  that  was  not  the  at- 
traction. I  saw  dirty,  barefooted  men  walking  on  the  equally 
dirty  stone  floors,  trousers  rolled  up  to  the  knees,  feet  and  legs 
grimy  and  red,  as  with  blood.  Farther  in,  and  I  saw  there  were 
others  in  cradle-shaped  affairs,  treading  the  grapes,  the  red  juice 


Italy. 


97 


escapiii.u-  through  :i[»ert\ires.  Now  and  then,  wlu-n  one  wai^  tired, 
he  would  step  out  t)n  the  floor,  and  anotlier,  who  had  been  wan- 
dering about,  would  take  his  phu'e.  No  thought  of  washing  feet 
before  getting  in  occurred  to  them.  There  is  fame  waiting  for 
some  one  who  will  invent  a  ])arefoot  and  barelegged  dummy  who 
can  tread  the  grapes  with  clean  feet.  If  so,  one  might  learn  to 
like  the  wine  of  the  country.  They  urge  the  water  is  bad  here, 
and  it  is.  There  is  never  much  ice,  and  it  is  unsatisfactory,  but, 
good  or  bad.  I  shall  always  take  it,  since  I  have  seen  the  foot 
that  trod  the  wine-press. 


VENETIAN    GONDOLA. 


We  were  two  hours  in  returning  to  Venice  from  this  busy, 
thrifty  island.  l)ack  over  still,  shining  waters  and  silent  lagoons. 
A  gray  haze  lay  over  the  water,  and  the  sky  was  leaden  with 
broken  clouds,  a  gleam  of  yellow  sunlight  showing  now  and  then. 
The  red  and  brown  sails,  phantom-like,  showed  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, some  mere  shadows,  in  the  dim  light.  Far  away  were  the 
dim  Veronese  Mountains;  a  cry  comes  now  and  then  from  the 


98  A  \\'()Man's  Wanderings. 

dreamy  distance,  an  echo  from  those  far-off  shores,  or  from  the 
water.  Is  it  the  wraith  of  some  old  Venetian  whose  s})irit  f(n-- 
ever  haunts  tliosc  wimhng  ways,  or  the  call  of  some  lonely  hird? 

Then  we  jniss  the  island  of  San  Lazaro,  on  which  is  the  Ar- 
menian Convent,  where  Byron  studied  and  mastered  the  language 
in  six  months,  when  he  lived  aniong  the  silent  brothers;  past 
Lido,  the  bath-houses  and  restaurants,  and  its  long  line  of  bright 
lights;  on  to  the  Riva,  with  the  lamps  burning  in  the  dark; 
gleaming  points  of  color;  a  sudden  dash  of  rain,  and  the  day  was 
done. 

Most  of  all,  I  enjoyed  in  Venice  the  evenings,  when  the  l)and 
played  in  the  square  of  St.  Mark's.  The  Venetians  crowd  the 
place,  for  there  is  no  other  place  roomy  or  attractive.  This  s(iuare, 
which  would  be  small  in  any  other  city,  is  more  interesting,  I 
fancy,  than  any  other  in  the  world. 

There  were  idle  hours  spent  in  front  of  Florian's  and  other 
cafes,  dreamily  admiring  St.  Mark's;  the  columns,  domes,  gilt 
mosaics,  grotesqueness  and  antiquity  mingled  and  interwoven, 
yet  not  clashing.  Old,  crumpled,  and  seamed,  it  is  an  idyll  of 
some  poet  materialized. 

I  hear  the  gentle  lapping  of  the  waves  against  the  steps  as 
the  gondoliers  come  with  their  ])lack,  silent  boats.  A  chorus 
faint  and  sweet  reaches  my  ears  from  some  singers  coming  from 
Lido's  shores  —  snatches  from  Tasso's  beautiful  poems,  lulling, 
soothing.  The  hum  of  voices  comes  from  innumerable  tables 
under  the  arcades,  where  families  sit  throughout  whole  even- 
ings, taking  coffee,  cake,  or  an  ice,  perhaps.  I  saw  very  little 
wine.  Men — especially  young  men  —  sat  smoking  and  taking 
coffee.  Save  in  rare  instances,  I  saw  no  evidence  of  intoxica- 
tion, as  I  have  rarely  seen,  for  that  matter,  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  One  can  sit  for  a  whole  evening  and  enjoy  the  music 
for  a  very  few  cents.  Once  seated  and  you  secure  what  you 
have  ordered,  you  are  not  molested;  no  over-zealous  waiter 
comes  for  further  orders  unless  called;  yet  the  restaurants  evi- 
dently thrive,  as  they  employ  the  music. 

Our  last  evening  was  spent  in  a  gondola,  going  out  in  the 
brightness  of  the  setting  sun.  I  saw  it  ))urn  on  the  distant  foliage 
of  the  gardens  and  flash  a  rosy  line  of  light  over  the  smooth 
waters.     I  saw  great  l)oats  go  out  of  the  stream,  and  sail  away 


Italy.  99 

over  Orient  seas.  Our  gondola  hrcaks  tlic  iilaeid  line  of  light; 
we  watch  the  f\vM  silvery  gleam  of  the  new  moon.  The  dusk 
deepened,  but,  high  up,  the  two  tall  pillars  of  St.  Mark's,  the 
winged  lion,  and  the  saint  surmounting  them  show  strong  and 
clear  in  the  }tale.  Iam1)ent  twilight,  while  down  in  the  narrow 
canals  it  is  dark,  and  we  see  long  l:)lack  streaks  that  glide  ))y 
silently.  A  light,  like  a  star  in  the  prow,  bespeaks  other  gondo- 
las; fresh  voices  come  from  some,  others  silently  glide  by  to  some 
heavenly  tryst,  or  to  darker  abodes  of  sin-haunted  places.  For, 
though  the  waters  come  and  go  and  keep  the  city  clean,  there  is 
much,  I  fancy,  as  in  the  world  at  large,  the  waves  cannot  wash 
away;  but  of  this  we  know  not.  We  see  the  city  that  seems 
afloat  in  the  sea,  and  then  from  somewhere  we  hear  singing, 
voices  soaring  heavenward,  as  though  crying  to  angels  beyond 
the  stars,  rising  triumphantly,  bird-like,  and  cleaving  the  air. 
It  was  as  if  Israfel,  the  angel  of  song,  had  passed  with  an  invis- 
ible choir  over  the  silent  city,  and  there  was  no  sin  or  sorrow, 
only  peace  and  calm  for  the  listeners.  It  was  only  some  singers 
in  a  boat  at  the  foot  of  the  two  columns;  only  a  night  in  Venice, 
but  an  evening  that  burnt  itself  into  the  memory,  and  a  orescent 
moon  that  sank  in  the  west  and  drew  the  heart  with  it. 

It  seems  but  a  step  from  Venice  to  Florence,  if  one  consults  the 
map,  but  the  journey  on  the  railroad  is  different.  One  hundred 
and  eighty  miles  is  not  much  of  a  trip  on  ordinary  roads,  but  a 
day  in  the  cars  in  Italy  is  more  tiresome  tlian  a  trip  from  Cali- 
fornia to  New  York.  A  constant  jerking  from  side  to  side  was 
not  only  wearing  to  flesh  and  nerves,  Init  I  found  it  almost  im- 
possible to  keep  my  hat  on  or  a  hairpin  in  my  hair.  The  road 
was  not  so  rough  after  leaving  Bologna,  but  in  a  distance  of  some 
thirty  miles  there  were  forty-five  tunnels. 

I  think  the  man  who  planned  the  cars  in  Italy  must  have  been 
in  league  with  the  Evil  One,  knowing  full  well  the  most  angelic 
disposition  would  succumb  after  a  few  trips.  I  know  I  was  only 
saved  from  the  crime  of  murder  in  going  through  the  tunnels, 
simply  l)ecause  the  victim  I  cheerfully  would  have  sacrificed  was 
a  man.  There  were  two,  I  might  add,  one  at  each  end  of  the 
compartment,  occupying  the  desirable  seats  by  the  windows. 
One  would  have  his  window  closed;  the  other  wished  his  open. 
Immediately  after  entering  a  tunnel  the  little,  narrow  compart- 


100  A  Woman's  WanderIxXgs. 

ment  became  full  of  smoke.  Such  a  thing  as  closing  a  window 
on  entering,  or  opening  one  when  out,  to  get  rid  of  it,  was  not 
thought  of,  so  the  only  thing  that  saved  me  from  a  crime  was 
that  they  were  men.  and  too  large  to  throw  through  the  window. 
If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  and  the 
chances  are  equal  as  to  size  and  strength,  I  shall  remember  and 
find  them  in  the  hereafter. 

Once  through  the  tunnels  and  the  men  gone,  we  resumed  our 
cheerfulness,  and  enjoyed  the  wild  scenery  of  the  Apennines. 
Especially  enchanting  were  the  views  as  we  left  the  higher  region, 
and  neared  the  valley  of  the  Arno.  The  bases  were  clothed  with 
olives  and  fruit  trees,  vines  running  riot  over  old  towers,  gate- 
ways, and  fine  old  buildings,  and,  whether  in  ruins  or  preserva- 
tion, they  looked  beautiful.  In  the  morning  we  had  come  from 
the  strikingly  bold  and  beautiful  plains  of  Lombardy,  the  rich 
and  well-cultivated  country  watered  by  the  river  Po.  But  we 
found  the  country  near  Florence  in  a  still  higher  state  of  cultiva- 
tion. Hills  clothed  with  richest  verdure;  trees  and  vines,  espe- 
cially the  olive  trees,  grew  everywhere.  Any  little  space  unfit  for 
aught  else  has  an  olive  tree  and  a  grape-vine.  Heights  are  stud- 
ded with  villas  half-buried  in  luxuriant  foliage,  old  walls  form- 
ing a  picture  of  great  beauty  and  full  of  interest.  Villages  are 
perched  in  the  most  inconceivable  situations,  antique,  venerable- 
looking,  rough  and  tumble-down  in  appearance,  like  battered 
swallows'  nests;  an  air  of  faded  grandeur  and  silence,  a  want  of 
life  and  activity  about  some  of  the  old  places,  yet  soothing  and 
restful  in  a  way  to  look  upon,  as  we  sped  past  them  and  on  with 
a  glimpse  in  the  gathering  darkness  of  the  tall  Campanile  and 
the  great  dome  of  the  Cathedral  —  then  we  were  in  Florence. 

The  days  sped  by  with  wonderful  rapidity  in  this  beautifully 
situated"  city.  Firenze,  as  the  natives  call  it,  and  it  seems  so 
much  softer  than  the  name  we  use.  The  days  were  not  all 
sunny,  but  when  it  rained  we  went  to  the  galleries,  and  there  are 
enough  pictures  in  the  Uffizi  and  Pitti  galleries  to  interest  one  if 
half  the  days  in  the  year  were  rainy,  and  one  had  nothing  else  to 
do.  But  few  people  have  the  time  or  strength  to  devote  to  these 
galleries,  the  most  important  in  the  whole  world.  The  Pitti, 
though  having  only  about  five  hundred  pictures,  has  a  collection 
unrivaled  for  quality.     The   choicest  are  known  throughout  the 


fAMI'ANILE.    FlJJKKXflC. 


Italy.  108 

world  throujih  photograplis— -and  ardsts  are  always  there  copy- 
ing: the  beautiful  pictures — some  looking  so  thin  and  gaunt  and 
so  poorly  clad  that  one  is  led  to  beheve  they  work  at  starvation 
prices. 

Pitti.  a  rival  of  the  Medici,  planned  and  built  the  palace,  which 
was  to  be  so  large  "that  the  doors  of  the  Medici  palace  should 
serve  for  models  for  his  windows."  He  built  the  massive  old 
structure  in  the  fourteenth  century,  l)ut,  as  often  happens,  pride 
and  envv  fail,  so  did  he  and  his  heirs,  for  before  it  was  entirely 
finished  it  became  the  property  of  the  hated  Medici,  who  after- 
wards built  the  long  corridor  which  leads  over  the  Ponte  Vecchio 
—  the  old  bridge  which  rivals  the  Rialto  in  its  shops  filled  with 
jewelry  and  bric-a-brac.  An  open  space  in  this  bridge  gives  one 
a  glimpse  of  the  river  and  sky,  of  fine  buildings,  roofs  and  gables. 
The  added  corridor  above  it  connects  the  Pitti  and  Uffizi  galle- 
ries, but  the  Rialto  spans  the  canal  where  flows  the  clear  water 
of  the  Adriatic.  The  Ponte  Vecchio  is  over  the  Arno,  which  is 
muddy  as  the  h^acramento  when  at  its  worst.  It  may  be  rank 
heresy  to  say  the  Arno  is  shallow  and  muddy — the  Arno  sung 
by  the  poets  and  raved  over  by  people  who  were  neither  poets 
nor  painters.  But  truth  compels  me  to  say  it;  along  the  em- 
bankments it  is  anything  but  ])eautiful,  but  away  from  the  bor- 
ders and  seen  from  some  high  eminence  it  looks  lovely. 

Thus  I  saw  it  from  Fiesole.  the  old  Etruscan  city  that  was 
built  on  a  spur  of  the  Apennines,  and  flourished  before  Flor- 
ence was  thought  of — so  long,  in  fact,  that  its  origin  is  lost  in 
the  dim,  far-away  past.  Happy  Fiesole,  whose  builders  and 
founders  are  unknown.  If  it  has  been  great  or  splendid  in  its 
dead  past,  there  are  now  no  traces  left.  Fiesole  has  arrived  at 
the  don't-care  age,  and  is  so  peaceful  and  supremely  happy 
and  indolent  that  the  air  is  full  of  it,  and  one  imbibes  it 
unconsciously.  There  is  a  large  square  with  its  old  church, 
around  which  cluster  a  few  houses.  Small  lanes  radiate  from 
the  square. 

There  is  a  slight  attempt  at  manufacturing  baskets,  fans, 
and  some  fancy  articles  in  straw,  but  the  principal  occupation 
seems  to  be  in  asking  for  tribute  from  the  passing  stranger. 
The  natives  are  never  troubled,  I  notice.  But  higher  up  on 
the  plateau  in  front  of  the   Franciscan  church  one  forgets  the 


104  A   Woman's  \\'anderings. 

beggars  in  the  splendid  and  extensive  view  of  the  Vale  d' Arno. 
Florence  below,  with  its  cupola  and  Campanile,  standing  in 
the  valley,  with  the  Arno  winding  through  the  city  and  along 
the  public  drive,  the  Cascine,  leading  through  tall  trees,  is  lost 
in  the  hills  in  the  misty  distance — is  a  thing  of  beauty,  and 
is  fair  enough  to  merit  all  that  has  been  said  of  it. 

I  linger,  for  the  place  is  enchanting;  V)almy  winds  come  up 
from  the  fields  now  rich  with  autumn's  early  tints.  A  murmur 
of  rustling  leaves  is  heard  with  the  patter  of  falling  nuts;  an 
amethystine  haze  hovers  over  the  sloping  hills,  mellowing  the 
In-ight  blue  of  the  skies,  unspotted,  save  where  a  few  foam}'-, 
billowy  masses  of  vapor  show  upon  the  far-away  peaks.  A 
great  wave  of  joy  and  happiness  fills  my  being,  that  I  have 
been  permitted  to  come  once  again  to  these  places  my  heart 
has  so  longed  for.  Whatever  the  future  may  hold  for  me 
there  will  be  remembrances  of  unclouded  days;  clays  that  are 
written  on  my  heart  with  sun-glints  that  nothing  can  wrest 
from   me. 

The  streets  of  Florence  are  narrow.  Init  clean.  The  town 
has  a  well-built,  prosperous  look.  There  are  comparatively  few 
beggars.  There  are  innumerable  arcades  filled  with  splendid 
statuary  free  to  all.  Galleries  and  museums  have  many  free 
da^'S.  I  often  saw  mere  children  in  churches  and  galleries. 
They  become  familiar  with  these  works  of  art  from  infanc,y, 
and  are  refined  and  cultivated  in  a  way,  for  they  have  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  works  of  the  old  masters.  It  is  absorl)ed 
and  becomes  part  of  themselves.  They  take  })ride  in  their  pos- 
sessions, and  well  may  they. 

We  visited  the  Monastery  of  K?an  Marco,  and  saw.  among 
much  that  was  interesting,  the  cell  and  relics  of  Savonarola, 
his  desk  and  sermons,  his  hair  shirt,  and  a  fragment  from  the 
pile  on  which  he  was  burnt.  We  had  seen  the  spot  in  the 
puldic  square  —  the  Piazza  Delia  Signoria — where,  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  the  flames  consumed,  in  that  Medici-haunted 
city,  the  body,  Itut  could  not  quench  his  undaunted  soul. 

In  a  museum  we  saw  the  collection  of  Arras  tapestries,  show- 
ing the  development  of  this  art  in  Tuscany.  They  were  so  l)eau- 
tiful  that  one  mourns  th(^  lost  art.  But  the  manufactory  was 
closed  when  the  Mi  dici  dvnasty  came  to  an  end,  and  the  art  of 


Italy.  105 

making,    or   interest,    ceased    when    the    last  of  that    ilhistrious 
family  passed  away. 

In  the  Etruscan  rooms  we  saw  an  old  sarcophagus,  so  old  that 
I  will  not  attempt  details.  But,  to  show  there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun,  and  how  closely  the  far-away  is  wedded  to  the 
present  —  I  will  say  that  the  lid  of  this  sarcophagus  was  a  carved 
recuml)ent  female  figure  resting  on  one  arm;  in  the  other  hand 
was  a  looking-glass.  There  was  a  tray  containing  Ijrushes  and 
iiecessar}'  adjuncts  for  finishing  the  toilet,  rich  in  detail,  the 
drapery  graceful  in  the  extreme.  It  is  interesting  in  the  history 
of  costume  to  know  the  feminine  fancy  keeps  near  the  l)order 
line  of  ages  long  past. 

We  saw  the  old  church  where  Boccaccio  lectured  on  the  ''  Divine 
Oomedy"  in  the  thirteenth  century;  also,  Santa  Croce.  There 
is  no  display  of  gilding  in  this  church.  Everything  is  simple, 
save  the  monuments,  and  they  are  what  the  traveler  wishes  to 
see.  It  is  well  there  is  nothing  to  detract  from  the  interest  cen- 
tered in  them.  Here  are  the  tombs  of  Dante,  Michael  Angelo, 
Garibaldi,  Galileo,  among  others  of  the  illustrious  dead.  The 
Bonaparte  chapel  I  remember  well,  for  it  was  there  I  saw,  years 
ago,  the  Empress  Eugenie  and  the  young  Napoleon  Avhose  tragic 
death  the  world  mourned. 

There  is  so  much  in  the  way  of  sculpture,  painting,  churches, 
and  buildings  of  historical  interest  that  I  could  not  attempt  to 
enumerate  them.  Besides,  it  is  better  to  remember  a  few  things 
and  know  them  well  than  to  rush  about  and  see  for  the  sake  of 
seeing.  A  gentleman  who  lives  in  Scotland  told  me  that  it  was 
scarcely  worth  while  going  to  Venice.  He  had  been  there  for 
two  hours  once,  and  did  not  care  for  the  damp  place! 

The  Duomo  and  Campanile,  made  of  red,  while,  anil  black 
marbles,  in  delicate  mosaic  effects,  would  seem  inappropriate  else- 
where, but  they  suit  Florence  and  the  people.  There  is  nothing 
jars  upon  one's  sense  of  enjoyment,  and  the  longer  I  live  the 
more  I  learn  to  appreciate  and  believe  in  the  fitness  of  things. 

I  shall  not  forget  the  Medici  Chapel,  nor  those  masterpieces  by 
Michael  Angelo — "Day  and  Night,"  "Twilight  and  Dawn," — ■ 
nor  the  Trilmne  of  the  Uffizi,  with  its  masterpieces  in  sculpture 
and  painting.  But  we  turn  over  the  leaves,  close  the  l)ook,  and 
go  out  in  the  streets.    We  see  the  famous  medallions  of  infants  in 


106  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

swaddling-clothes  by  Robbia  high  up  on  the  arcades,  and  in  the 
streets  below  see  the  peasant  women  with  their  bambinos  wrap- 
ped in  the  same  style  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  old.  There  is 
a  lot  of  good  sense  in  the  style  for  babies,  I  fancy,  for,  cry  as  they 
may,  they  can't  kick,  and  I  saw  no  bow-legged  children  in  Italy. 

The  books  tell  us  the  time  to  enjoy  Tuscany  is  in  the  autumn. 
One  might  say  the  same  of  any  place,  for  that  matter.  But 
it  was  especially  charming  while  we  were  there,  for  heavy 
rains  had  settled  the  dust  of  the  long  summer  and  tempered 
the  heat.  The  days  after  the  rains  were  perfect,  as  with  us 
after  the  first  rains.  So  it  was  pleasant  to  wander  outside  the 
gates. 

The  country  is  beautiful  near  the  city,  and  electric  cars  are 
here,  too,  in  Italy,  of  very  recent  date,  but  useful.  The  roads 
are  smooth  as  floors,  lined  with  great  chestnut  trees,  dropping 
the  nuts  with  every  passing  breeze;  children  busy  collecting 
those  that  had  fallen.  They  are  well  tutored,  evidently,  for  I 
did  not  see  a  boy  in  any  tree.  The  foliage  of  the  trees  were 
still  a  deep  green,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  pale  gray  of  the 
olives.  There  were  long  lines  of  stone  walls,  neat  villas,  and 
tumble-down  houses;  old  palaces  which  have  the  appearance 
—  which  is  peculiar,  and  seems  to  run  through  everything  in 
Italy — of  having  seen  better  days.  But  it  is  wonderful  the 
effect  the  vines  produce.  They  grow  in  graceful  untidiness 
over  the  poorest  hut  as  well  as  on  a  castle.  They  hang  in  fes- 
toons, creep  up  and  twine  lovingly  over  arches  and  balustrades, 
riot  in  perfect  abandonment,  in  avalanches  of  reds,  greens,  and 
brow'ns.  It  is  wonderfully  alluring,  and  it  is  not  strange  that 
every  man  in  Florence  who  is  able  to  purchase  a  small  piece 
of  ground  does  so,  and  builds  a  small  dwelling  where  he  can 
live  a  portion  of  the  year — which,  with  them,  does  not,  I 
learn,  mean  a  summer  resort,  but  an  autumn  outing.  And 
surely  they  are  wise,  for  it  is  far  more  enjoyable  than  in  the 
scorching  summer  days,  even  for  these  indolent,  sun-basking 
people.  Yet  even  with  the  poorest  of  them  there  is  always  a 
touch  of  brightness  in  a  patch  of  flowers,  bright  hued,  green 
foliage  of  a  grape-vine,  if  nothing  else.  Their  lives  are  dull 
and  hopeless  in  a  way.  Their  homes  may  be  mere  hovels, 
huddled    together    and    dominated,    overshadowed   by  castle  or 


Italy.  107 

tower,  but  their  natures  seen]  to  be  of  the  sunny  chmate;  they 
show  it  in  the  songs  that  burst  from  the  lips  of  old  and  young, 
in  their  care  for  trees  and  vines  which  grow  about  them,  and, 
like  charity,  cover  a  multitude  of  evils. 

I  think  often  of  the  contrast  between  the  poor  homes  here 
and  some  in  our  state.  I  know  of  nothing  more  desolate, 
more  calculated  to  make  one  long  for  mansions  beyond  the 
clouds,  than  a  house  in  California  set  in  a  sun-baked  field,  with 
never  a  tree,  shrub,  or  plant  to  show  an  idea  beyond  greed  or 
hard  labor.  Here,  where  the  people  are  so  poor  they  have  little 
to  wear  and  less  to  eat — a  hard  loaf  is  the  workman's  dinner  — 
I  have  seen  many  of  them  eat  a  bit  of  bread  only — yet  they 
are  cheerful  and  are  ever  desirous  of  making  the  l)est  of  life, 
and  try  to  bring  as  much  of  light  and  beauty  into  it  as  pos- 
sible.    Picturesque  misery  is  applicable  here  in  Italy. 

From  the  terrace  where  stands  the  beautiful  bronze  statue 
of  David,  by  Michael  Angelo,  I  saw  some  pictures  not  catalogued, 
but  they  are  older  than  the  oldest.  The  coloring,  arrangement, 
and  harmony  are  so  perfect,  that  the  old  masters  loved  and 
imitated,  but  never  equaled,  the  fair  environs  of  Florence.  The 
river  flashed  brightly  in  the  distance;  a  rich  glow  was  over 
the  hills;  a  mixture  of  light  and  shade  softening  and  beautifying 
the  whole. 

There  was  Galileo's  tower,  where  he  lived  for  a  time  and 
where  he  used  doubtless  to  watch  the  sun  at  morn  and  eve, 
meditating  on  the  question  of  sunsets  —  whether  the  sun  went 
down  or  the  earth  turned  away,  like  a  tired  child,  from  the 
glare,  for  rest  from  toil  and  heat.  He  solved  the  question, 
but  then,  now  and  forever,  the  sun  will  set,  and  there  is  no  other 
term  for  us. 

The  Vallambrosan  hills  show  in  the  distance,  as  do  the  peaks 
of  the  Carrara  Mountains.  Nearer  are  spurs  of  the  Apennines, 
rising  out  of  a  violet  mist,  glittering  in  a  sky  of  pale  prim- 
rose, the  Lucca  hills  forming  a  fitting  background  to  the  pic- 
ture. The  ever-changing  light  is  varying  on  the  beautiful  gar- 
dens and  the  fair  meadows.  The  hum  of  life  comes  up  from 
the  streets  across  the  river,  the  songs  of  happy  children  come 
floating  up  to  us.  Beyond  is  the  Via  Crucis,  San  Miniato, 
and  the  quiet  cemetery  where  some  are  buried  in  somber  cor- 


108  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

ridors  of  the  church;  others  under  phiin  shibs  or  ehiborate 
monuments  in  the  grounds  outside;  their  strength  and  siiiews 
He  moldering;  some  in  forgotten  nooks.  Side  1)y  side  with 
hving  nature  this  freshness  of  life  about  us  rise  the  walls  of 
the  old,  old  church,  a  petrifaction  of  thoughts,  hopes,  aspira- 
tions of  the  long  buried  and  forgotten  dead.  What  pictures 
to  remember  —  scenes  ineffaceable. 

And  then  from  the  town  and  a  half-dozen  villages  on  the 
crags  of  the  Apennines  come  to  me  the  notes  of  the  angelus, 
tremulous  and  sweet,  so  harmonious  that  it  thrills  the  heart 
with  a  pleasure  akin  to  pain.  The  sun  was  setting  as  I  go  down 
to  the  city,  in  an  atmosphere  of  lambent  flame,  pale  pink,  and 
deepening  into  tones  like  the  rich  red  seen  in  the  heart  of  the 
rose,  something  like  an  Alpine  glow,  but  warmer  and  threaded 
with  golden  light.  The  air  and  sky  and  distant  hills  with 
clustering  houses  and  detached  villas  were  indescribal)ly  bi^auti- 
ful,  soft,  and  dreamlike.  Strange  how  the  magic  coloring  of  a 
sunset  enhances  the  beauty  of  a  landscape,  as  the  glamour  that 
often  makes  the  plainest  face  beautiful  to  the  lover. 

Through  the  gates,  among  the  throng,  stumpy  little  soldiers  in 
slouchy  uniforms  stride  ])v.  VegetaV»le-venders  are  pushing 
carts  filled  with  green  things.  Horses  and  vehicles  are  in  aston- 
ishing confusion.  Bells  are  jangling,  poor  women,  world-worn 
and  old,  but  still  erect,  carry  heavy  baskets  on  their  heads.  The 
pestilential  mosaic  dealer  and  the  post-card  sellers  follow  us 
with  the  persistency  of  gad-flies;  milk-carts  pass,  filled  with  bot- 
tles of  milk  having  a  bit  of  green  leaf  twisted  in  the  necks  in  lieu 
of  stoppers. 

Fine  equipages  are  jammed  in  between  dog-carts  and  omni- 
buses. Priests  and  cowled  monks  go  bv  silently  amid  the  wran- 
gling crowd.  Natives  and  foreigners  are  there.  Then  the  sun's 
last  beam  strikes  the  tower  of  the  Vecchio.  In  a  moment  the 
air  darkens,  and  we  hasten  through  the  narrow  streets  to  all  the 
comforts  of  a  home,  which  we  find  not  in  our  hotel. 

If  the  preceding  day  was  perfect,  so  was  the  following  morning, 
in  the  way  of  a  perfect  downpour  of  rain  such  as  I  have  never 
seen  in  October.  We  left  Florence  for  Rome  at  an  early  hour, 
thinking  it  miglit  be  only  a  shower,  but  throughout  the  entire 
day  it  was  something  terrible.     The  rain  came  down  in  sheets. 


Italy.  109 

Tlu'  bills  are  steep,  and  the  country  was  soon  flooded.  Many 
small  farms  on  the  slopes  were  lately  i)lowed,  and  it  seemed  as 
tlu)ugh  tliey  werel>eing  literally  washed  away.  The  streams  ran 
mud.  Twice  we  were  stopped  hy  the  roadbed  being  washed 
away,  and  here  we  found  again  at  its  best  or  worst  what  the  pas- 
senger-car is  in  Italy.  The  storm  beat  in  oli  all  sides,  as  the  win- 
dows were  made  in  that  mysterious  way  that  they  must  either 
remain  closed  tightly  or  slide  the  full  length  within  the  door. 
In  other  countries  the  compartment  car  is  voted  a  blessing  in  dis- 
guise—  always  disguised  in  such  a  manner  that  the  l)lessing 
is  not  apiparent,  and  there  is  a  long  leather  strap  with  holes 
punctured  so  the  window  may  be  lowered  a  few  inches.  But 
there  is  a  scarcity  of  l)rass  pegs  or  leather  here,  for  there  is  not  a 
vestige  of  anything  of  the  sort  in  Italy.  There  were  eight  of 
us  in  one  compartment,  shut  in  so  tight,  we  could  only  open  a 
window  at  the  expense  of  some  one  getting  drenched.  Between 
us  and  the  other  compartments  the  seats  were  cushioned  far 
above  the  head  when  sitting.  The  boards  above  on  both  sides 
were  closely  joined  and  solid  in  the  extreme,  but,  strangely 
enough,  the  roof  was  faulty  and  the  water  poured  through. 
Traveling-rugs  and  waterproofs  were  brought  out,  and  so  we  sat 
through  nine  hours,  traveling  in  Italy. 

Only  a  few  days  before,  I  had  heard  of  an  American  woman 
who  said  she  preferred  the  cars  here  —  sleepers  included^ to 
those  at  home.  Somebody  surely  is  answerable  for  turning  loose 
a  woman  of  that  sort;  the  central  block  of  some  insane  asylum 
awaits  her  coming. 

We  saw  the  yellow  Tiber  —  a  raging  river  of  mud  —  tearing 
through  valleys  and  orchards,  carrying  away  whole  stacks  of 
hay,  the  lal)or  of  long  summer  hours.  It  seems  the  storm  was 
unprecedented  and  the  people  watched  helplessly  or  tried  to 
stop  the  overflow.  But  still  the  rain  poured  in  torrents,  and 
though  we  were  three  hours  Ijehind  time,  we  finally  reached  our 
destination. 

Our  landlord,  an  American,  had  preceded  us,  going  on  a  day 
ahead,  being  the  proud  possessor  of  two  hotels,  and  as  an  especial 
inducement  of  our  coming  to  this  last  and  best  hotel,  he  had 
l)romised  to  wait  luncheon  for  us  and  to  have  a  bottle  on  ice  for 
our  coming.     AVe  had  endured   the  horrors  of   the  day  with  pa- 


110  A  Woman's  Wanderinos. 

tience,  arriving  late  luit  still  cheerful.  We  were  driven  in  the 
teeth  of  the  storm  to  tlie  hotel.  A  warm  grasp  of  the  hotel  hand 
greeted  us.  We  ate  and  drank  the  vin  du  jiays.  our  host  prais- 
ing his  viands  and  especially  the  1)ottle  that  had  known  ice, 
though  I  thought  it  tasted  like  a  siphon  of  soda  after  the  gas  had 
esca})ed.  But  then  the  w^elconie  was  warm  —  if  at  an  inn.  Why 
cavil  at  little  things  when  hospitality  was  so  unbounded?  So 
we  repined  not.  But  when  Ave  settled  our  bill  later  on,  the 
luncheon,  wine,  etc.,  were  charged  up  to  us  in  full!  Such  was 
our  welcome,  so  we  paid  for  it  and  the  lesson.  It  was  worth  it. 
Something  new  is  always  worth  learning. 

Three  weeks  of  ideal  autumn  days  have  l;>een  spent,  in  which 
wandering  about  old  Rome  seemed  far  more  beautiful  than  in 
any  other  season.  The  chilly  nights  and  cool  mornings  have 
touched  the  leaves,  so  that  among  the  trees  and  vines  are  bright 
dashes  of  color. 

The  tree-lined  paths,  parks,  and  gardens  are  tilled  with  fhllen, 
rustling  leaves;  the  days  are  warm,  bright,  and  sunny,  neither 
too  hot  nor  too  cold,  and  there  has  been  none  that  was  not 
charming  and  a  delight  to  be  out  in  and  enj(\v. 

The  air  of  mystery  of  the  old  enchanted  i)laces,  the  strange, 
brooding  shadows  hovering  over  every  ruin,  breathes  of  dead 
years  and  of  a  bygone  past  the  subtle  consciousness  which  re- 
ceives it  knows  and  feels  in  all  its  inmost  depths;  but  when  ex- 
pression is  demanded  most  of  us  fail,  as  we  know  how  utterly 
impossible  it  is  to  give  an  idea  to  those  who  have  not  seen  the 
charm  and  the  fascination  Rome  possesses. 

It  is  not  all  charming,  however;  there  is  much  in  modern  Rome 
that  would  not  be  tolerated  in  any  other  city  of  its  size.  Her  nar- 
row streets  and  sunless  alleys  contain  filth  beyond  one's  imagining. 
The  streets  and  palaces,  rich  in  history,  bring  up  recollections  that 
kindle  the  soul;  but  the  thousands  of  evil  smells  l)ring  a  gloom 
and  a  feeling  that  depresses.  "Do  as  the  Romans  do,"  is  a  say- 
ing whose  origin,  like  many  other  foolish  saws,  is  either  un- 
known or  never  understood.  Those  who  have  never  been  here 
could  not  understand  it;  those  who  have  would  be  the  last  to 
wish  to  emulate  the  Romans. 

The  streets,  save  for  a  very  few  exceptions,  are  narrow,  ill- 
paved,  and  dirty.     There  are  no  sidewalks  except  narrow  strijis; 


Italy.  Ill 

more  often,  none.  Tlie  little  S(]^uar(',  nnevcn  Mocks  of  stone 
occupy  the  whole  of  the  street;  the  peoi)Ie  walk  amid  the  carts, 
carriages,  street-cars,  and  vehicles  of  all  sorts,  yet  there  seems 
but  little  confusion,  and  no  accidents.  It  is  jiartly  owing  to 
the  fact  that  most  of  the  horses  are  so  overworked  and  so  poorly 
fed  that  they  have  not  enough  si)irit  to  run  over  one.  The 
steady  jog-trot,  goaded  on  ))y  the  merciless  lash,  is  all  they 
are  capahle  of.  I  have  never  in  all  my  wanderings  over  the 
world  seen  such  cruelty  shown  to  l^easts  as  here. 

We  avoid  carriages,  more  especially  tlie  omnibuses,  going, 
when  possilde,  in  the  electric  cars,  which  now  ha})pily  take 
one  alx^ut  Rome  to  many  of  the  most  important  places.  I  heard 
one  gentleman  de[)lore  the  fact,  saying  electric  cars  si)oile<l  the 
city  for  him.  How  any  one  can  prefer  to  ride  behind  a  horse 
that  is  beaten  half  the  time,  to  riding  in  a  clean  car,  going  with- 
out jolt  or  jar,  swiftly  through  the  streets.  I  know  not.  I  only 
know  that  common  sense  need  not  of  necessity  be  banished  V)y 
sentimentality.  I  know,  too,  that  Rome  is  slowly  awakening  to 
the  fact  that  it  behooves  her  to  kee})  up  with  the  times,  and  I  am 
glad  that  it  is  so.  And  of  one  thing  else  I  am  sure — if  I  were 
Italy's  Queen,  I  should  start  a  humane  society  at  once.  History 
tells  us  that  Caesar's  horses,  which  he  had  used  at  the  passage  of 
the  Rubicon,  refused  food  and  shed  tears  when  he  fell.  The 
horses  of  to-day  would  scarcely  refuse  food,  but  I  can  well  ima- 
gine them  shedding  tears  if  they  could. 

We  are  located  so  near  the  Porte  del  Popolo  —  The  Gate  of  the 
People  —  that  I  may  speak  of  it  first.  What  hordes  and  armies 
have  camped  outside  the  walls  and  entered  here.  From  the 
Etruscan  Mountains  came  the  Gauls.  Among  the  emperors 
came  Constantine,  and  with  him  came  the  light  of  Christianity, 
a  light  that  needed  no  Vestal  Virgin  to  keep  alive,  for  from  that 
time  pagan  altars  were  doomed.     Here,  too,  was  Nero's  tomb. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Pincian  Hill,  and  in  the  center  of  the  square, 
stands  the  old  obelisk  telling  of  unnuml)ered  centuries.  Brought 
here  before  Christ  was  born,  its  hieroglyphics  tell  of  the  time  of 
the  Rameses,  and  dates  back  over  thirteen  hundred  years  before 
the  Christian  era.  Oldest  of  old  things  in  Rome,  one  looks  at  it 
with  wonder.  Transported  from  the  Nile,  it  was  there  when 
Moses  and  the  Children  of  Israel   left    Egypt  and  began  their 


112  A  Woman's  Waxdekings. 

wanderings  in  the  desert.  If  tliis  grim  old  shaft  could  speak, 
it  would  probably  echo  the  longings  and  yearnings  the  Chil- 
dren of  Israel  expressed  for  their  lost  Egypt. 

The  Corso,  so  famous  in  times  gone  by,  leading  straight  from 
the  gate  and  obelisk,  is  a  long,  narrow  street,  with  nothing  beyond 
the  ordinary  to  mark  it,  save  a  palace  now  and  then.  The 
Dore  Pamphili  is  by  far  the  most  magnificent  of  all  the 
palaces  in  Rome,  and  probably  the  largest  in  the  world,  as 
this  private  dwelling  is  almost  two  thirds  the  size  of  St.  Peter's. 
The  shops  are  poor,  for  the  modern  portion  of  the  city  extends 
in  another  direction,  and  the  best  are  found  in  wider  and 
better  streets.  I  saAV  one  very  large  department  store,  however, 
near  the  end  of  the  Corso.  It  was  quite  up  to  date,  with  an 
elevator,  and  three  or  more  floors  filled  with  goods.  Yet  in 
that  large  store  we  could  not  get  a  spool  of  sewing-silk. 

Above  the  Piazza  del  Popolo  is  the  Pincian  Hill,  where  we 
go  often,  even  though  the  books  tell  us  malaria  lurks  amid 
the  dark  groves  of  cypress  and  ilex  trees.  We  have  heard 
that  oft-told  tale  at  home,  and  know  how  senseless  much  of 
it  is.  We  fret  not  our  hearts,  '^ut  look  over  a  city  fair  enough 
to  take  chances.  The  band  plays  here  in  the  afternoons,  when 
the  crowds  gather,  and  all  of  Rome  drives,  walks,  chats,  and 
visits.  There  is  no  distinction  here,  as  in  London.  The  poor- 
est drive  or  walk  on  the  Pincian  along  with  the  nobles. 

These  gardens,  commonplace  enough  now,  have  served  far 
different  purposes  in  times  past.  What  bacchanalian  festivi- 
ties they  have  seen!  They  were  once  the  voluptuous  gardens 
of  Lueullus.  Then  came  a  woman  who  made  vice  alluring  in 
her  wild  orgies,  and  her  wine-press  was  presided  over  by 
bacchantes  dressed  in  tiger-skins.  AVhat  dances  they  had  in 
the  moonlit  nights,  with  vice  and  folly  in  one  continual  round, 
until  her  blood  was  justly  spilt  upon  the  ground  she  had 
acquired  by  murder,  the  ground  often  made  red  with  wine 
flowing  from  overfilled  cups  she  had  helped  to  drain. 

One  does  not  always  think  of  these  things,  though  recollec- 
tion will  surge  up  now  and  then.  It  is  as  well  to  note  the  life  of 
to-day,  to  walk  the  beautiful  paths  and  watch  the  fountains  glit- 
ter in  the  sunlight,  and  look  at  the  trailing  vines  wreathing  the 
great   trees;    to  see   the    terraces,    liahistrades,   statues,   and    the 


Italy 


113 


lovely  flowers,  and  then  \o  sit  on  the  terrace  overlooking-  the  city 
and  watch  the  sun  sink  low  hehind  St.  Peter's,  and  the  lon<!;  line 
of  huildings  that  we  know  is  the  Vatican  stretching  from  the 
huge  dome.  The  })urple  mists  of  the  evening  back  and  beyond 
serve  to  throw  them  out  in  bold  relief.  The  red  light  beyond  the 
yellow  Tiber  flames  brightly  on  the  dome,  and  strikes  grim  old 
Castle  Angelo,  the  tomb  of  a  i)agan  emperor. 

Voices  come  up  gayly  from  below,  for  a  group  of  young  people 
are  singing  and  chatting.  Youth  is  happy  everywdiere.  Memories 
of  the  past  do  not  trouble  these  people.  So  it  should  be  — 
youth  has  the  best  of  it,  for  theirs  is  the  right  sense — that  of 
laughter,  and  of  singing  the  hours  away.    There  is  sadness  enough 


'is^'.' 


CASTLE    ST.    AXGELO,    ROME. 


depicted  in  the  sorrowful  faces  of  the  rows  of  Dacian  captives  in 
carved  stone  lining  the  road  leading  up  the  Pincian,  which  in 
mockery  seem  to  echo  the  light  laughter. 

The  Piazza  di  Spagna,  with  its  grand  flight  of  steps,  its  old 
fountain  and  models  located  in  picturesque  attitudes,  greets 
us  daily,  for  this  is  known  as  the  stranger's  quarter.  The  banks 
are  here  and  firms  are  besieged  daily  for  mails.  Near  here,  too, 
are  the  cars,  and  the  square  is  filled  always  with  carriages  for 
hire.     It  is  never  hard  to  decide  on  what  to  do  at  Rome,   for 


114  A  ^^^)MA^■'s  ^^^\^•I)Kl{I^'(•;s. 

there  is  somctliiiiLi-  to  see  and  enjoy,  no  matter  how  h^n<i  one 
remains. 

We  go  to  the  Forum  and  spend  hours  there,  locating  the  various 
columns  and  temples;  we  watch  the  excavations,  and  the  men 
collecting  old  bits  of  stone  and  marble,  and  l)roken  pieces  of 
sculpture  for  archaeologists  and  wise  men  to  pore  over.  We 
have  all  sorts  of  descriptions,  each  writer  following  in  the  foot- 
steps of  those  gone  before  him,  or  else  he  varies  to  suit  his  taste. 
The  guide-books  change  veTy  often  or  tell  different  stories,  but 
what  does  it  matter?  We  have  all  read  and  know  something 
about  the  history  of  the  old  city,  and  each  must  think  his  own 
thoughts  or  the  thoughts  of  others. 

Writers  have  spent  years  and  years  studying  Rome,  and  some 
tell  us  it  is  impossible  to  know  Rome  in  ten  years,  Avhich 
makes  it  very  discouraging.  Some  people  live  a  lifetime  and 
know  nothing.  I  know  there  is  a  man  who  has  lived  here  twenty 
years,  who  did  not  know  that  a  street-ear  line  took  us  near  the 
Coliseum,  or  that  another  line  ended  at  Santa  Paola,  outside  the 
gates;  yet  it  took  us  less  than  a  week  to  locate  all  the  lines  and 
to  find  them. 

One  can  see  much,  understand  and  feel  with  the  heart — -for  in 
deep  feeling  there  is  more  human  truth  than  in  a  little  knowl- 
edge. I  am  satisfied  with  a  little  history  and  much  legend,  with 
rough  warp  of  fact  and  rich  woof  of  old-time  fancy.  What  care  I 
about  tracing  the  foundations  of  Nero's  golden  house?  I  can  read 
of  the  dimensions,  its  capitals  and  walls  incrusted  with  gold  and 
mother-of-pearl.  I  only  know  it  does  not  now  exist;  that  it  was 
pulled  down,  that  enchanted  palace,  for  the  people's  sake,  and  for 
their  sake,  also,  the  ashes  of  the  dreaded  monster,  the  matricide 
who  dared  to  do  everything  save  taking  his  own  vile  life,  were 
scattered  to  the  winds  after  a  thousand  years — years  in  which 
the  people  still  feared  him,  as  they  lielieved  his  ghost  still 
haunted  the  city  and  terrorized  them.  It  seems  the  very  irony 
of  fate  that  after  the  ghost  was  exorcised,  and  the  ashes  scattered, 
the  urn  in  which  they  had  been  placed  was  afterwards  used  as  a 
public  measure  for  salt  in  the  market-place  near  the  Capitol. 
History  does  not  say  that  they  objected  to  the  measure  or  the 
salt. 

One  thinks  of  manv  things,  loitering  here,  for  thoughts  steal  in. 


Italy. 


115 


and  endless  recollections  come  and  go.  I  have  sat  upon  the  old 
walls  of  the  Forum  and  had  my  day-dreams.  I  have  huilt  up 
Ivery  temple,  and  have  peopled  those  temples;  have  built  walls 
that  not  only  echoed  back  Ca?sar's  footsteps,  l)ut  gave  back  also 
the  sound  of  reproach  to  the  man  who  made  the  name  of  friend- 
ship more  infamous  than  any  one  since  the  time  that  knew  of 
escariot's  kiss.  In  my  meditations  I  have  heard  Antony's  ring- 
ing speech.  I  seem  to  hear  the  sobs  of  strong  men  who  wept  for 
Cajsar,  and  of  those  who  mourneil  Augustus.     Then  I  saw  Pom- 


FORUM,    ROME. 


pey,  Catiline,  Cicero,  and  Hadrian;  and  after  these  came  the 
Gauls,  Goths,  and  Huns,  and  the  hordes  of  barbarians.  One  has 
read  of  them  from  childhood,  until  they  seem  familiar,  some- 
thing we  have  known  always,  and  it  does  not  seem  strange  that 
they  pass  and  repass,  an  endless  throng.  And  then  a  voice 
pleads,  '-Poverina.  signorina,  poverina."  ''Grazia"  is  breathed 
with  a  sigh  of  delight  as  I  drop  a  soldi  in  the  beggar's  dirty 
palm,  and  the  day-dream  is  over.     What  matters  it  whether  the 


116  A  Woman's  Wandkhingb. 

dream  castles  were  like  those  of  long  ago?  They  were  real  to 
me  as  the  stars,  and  I  am  satisfied  with  my  building.  If  I  err 
in  my  location  of  columns  or  arches,  I  have  at  least  had  my  en- 
joyment, and  am  satisfied.  An  architect  can  scarcely  do  more. 
As  for  the  rest,  I  leave  it  to  the  archaeologists.  I  can  lean  on  an 
old  wall,  build  and  people  it  at  will;  for  Rome  must  be  enjoyed 
according  to  the  disposition  or  fancy  of  each  traveler. 

And  then  I  turn  from  the  Forum  and  watch  the  life  svir- 
ging  through  the  narrow  streets;  look  into  doors  blackened  by 
time  and  smoke,  and  see  the  cold,  dirty  stone  floors.  Men 
and  women  sit  at  the  doors  or  in  the  street,  which  is  as  clean, 
and  far  more  cheerful,  oftener,  than  indoors,  and  I  wonder 
what  their  life  must  be;  a  life  utterly  unknown  even  to  the 
poorest  in  America,  for  in  dark,  gloomy,  and  damp  habitations, 
Rome  excels  beyond  any  city  of  which  I  have  any  knowledge. 

Still,  the  people  seem  cheerful,  and  are  good-natured  and 
kind.  We  have  found  much  genuine  kindness  and  politeness 
in  shops  and  eating-places.  I  remember  going  into  a  restaurant 
where  men  were  seated  at  different  tables.  We  sat  down,  and 
the  proprietor  said  something  and  whisked  the  men  into  another 
room,  closed  the  door,  and  then  came  up  smiling  for  our  order. 
Just  why  he  did  it  we  did  not  know,  but  he  seemed  delighted 
to  have  us  honor  him.  Perhaps  he ,  rarely  had  strangers  eat 
there;  but  we  have  learned  a  good  deal  of  life  outside  of  hotels, 
and  like  to  take  luncheon  wherever  we  happen  to  be  at  the  noon 
hour. 

One  day  we  were  in  a  restaurant  when  some  soldiers,  two 
lieutenants,  I  believe,  came  in  and  ordered  a  glass  of  wine 
each.  After  they  were  served  I  was  astonished  to  see  them 
take  some  packages  out  of  their  pockets.  It  proved  to  be  the 
hard  bread  of  the  country,  which  they  ate  with  the  wine,  and 
after  the  repast  one  put  the  remainder  of  the  loaf  back  in  his 
pocket  for  another  time.  Fancy  one  of  our  lieutenants  doing  that. 
I  learn,  however,  that  the  most  rigid  economy  must-  prevail, 
as  the  lieutenants  get  about  four  francs,  or  eighty  cents,  per 
day,  while  a  captain  gets  about  one  dollar  and  a  quarter,  in 
our  money.  The  common  soldier  receives  two  cents  per  day, 
so  it  is  not  strange  that  they  buy  a  handful  of  roasted  chestnuts,, 
as  I  have  seen  them  do,  or  lunch  off  a  hard  piece  of  bread. 


Italy.  117 

The  average  restaurant  is  not  remarkable  for  good  cooking, 
and  is  nothing  Uke  the  Italian  restaurants  in  California.  Cooking 
may  be  another  of  the  lost  arts,  for  in  the  time  of  Rome's  greatest 
triumphs  it  was  said  that  it  was  carried  to  such  perfection,  that 
a  pig  would  be  roasted  on  one  side  and  boiled  on  the  other.  It 
may  be  only  another  myth  we  read  of,  but  we  are  sorry  these 
days  bring  us  no  such  delicacies. 

So  much  is  crowded  into  one  day  here,  that  it  is  hard  to  arrange 
or  specify  things.  I  can  only  speak  of  a  few.  Loitering  in  Rome, 
idly  speculating  on  or  accepting  things  as  they  are  without  for- 
ever inquiring  why,  saves  some  shoe-leather,  and  the  wear  and 
tear  of  brains  at  times.  In  a  church  where  Pius  IX  is  buried,  I 
saw  a  lady  eagerly  scanning  her  guide-book,  then  looking  at  some 
pictures  on  the  ceiling.  She  asked  me  if  I  could  see  a  lizard  and 
a  frog  anywhere  in  the  vicinity.  I  told  her  I  could  not,  l)ut  if 
there  was  a  frog's  legs  in  sight,  even  if  painted,  I  thought  I  would 
like  to  see  them.  "  But  why  this  anxiety?  "  I  asked.  Well,  she 
had  read  the  artists  were  not  permitted  to  put  their  names  on 
the  pictures,  so  the  combined  or  mixed-up  reptiles  meant  the 
name  of  the  artist.  We  were  in  the  church  some  time,  and  when 
we  left  she  was  still  gazing  at  those  painted  vaults  with  a  field- 
glass.  She  probably  found  what  she  sought,  but  forgot  the  jiaint- 
ings,  and  forgot  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  church  —  the 
crypt,  where  a  simple,  Init  chaste  and  beautiful,  sarcophagus 
holds  the  remains  of  Pius  IX. 

People  seem  to  grow  wild  over  certain  objects  of  art,  and  like 
sheep  jump  over  an  imaginary  fence  l)ecause  somebody  made  a 
skip  centuries  ago.  An  old  broken  torso,  a  dilapidated  out-of- 
date  Venus,  is  raved  over  because  some  one  who  knew  and  under- 
stood painting  and  sculpture  ages  ago  saw  the  Ijeaut}'  of  the 
portions,  and  knew  enough  to  build  them  up  piece  by  piece.  And 
to  this  interest,  this  knowledge,  we  owe  much,  and  the  world  owes 
more  to  such  students. 

There  is  a  class  of  people  who  read  but  little  and  think  less, 
who  feel  called  upon  to  gush  over  every  object  a  guide  points 
out.  It  sounds  like  culture,  and  they  will  dilate  on  the  expres- 
sive face  of  the  marl)le  elephant  bearing  the  obelisk  on  his  back, 
that  stands  patiently  in  the  Piazza  Delia  Minerva,  and  is  likely 
to  keep  the  same  expression  for  several  years  to  come. 


118 


A  Woman's  Wanderings. 


It  is  better  to  be  candid  and  confess,  as  did  an  English- 
woman here,  who  felt  she  must  see  something  each  day,  whether 
she  thought  about  it  or  not.  She  came  from  her  lovely  home 
on  the  Thames,  and  went  out  in  quest  of  objects  of  interest 
each  day.  She  wandered  into  the  church  of  the  Capuchins 
one  day,  and  saw  that  beautiful  painting,  Guido  Reni's  "Arch- 
angel Michael  Slaying  the  Demon."  At  dinner  that  night 
she  said,  with  a  very  complaisant  air,  '"Well,  I  have  accom- 
plished something  to-day,  I  have  seen  'Michael  Angelo  Slay- 
ing Sin.'"  She  returned  home,  doubtless  well  satisfied  with 
the  memory  oi  that  picture,  and  the  artist  had  not  wrought 
in  vain,  if  he  gave  the  impression  that  some  mortal  was  able 
to  slay  sin.  I  might  have  been  less  wise,  but  with  pleasanter 
recollections,  had  I  followed  her  example,  and  ^gone  out  with 
the  pleasant  memory  of  that  picture. 

We  followed  one  of  the  Capuchin  monks  downstairs  into 
a  long  corridor,   whose  walls,    roof,  and    a    numoer   of   chapels 


a-i^^m^z^-' 


T*!^ 

^f^^*,*^,^***'*' 


CKYI'T    IX    (HriHII    OF    CAITCIUNS. 


Italy.  119 

openiii*;-  from  it  are  piled  with  l)oiies  of  some  four  thousand 
of  tlie  deceased  brother  monks  in  all  sorts  of  fantastic  devices. 
Ugly  and  grotesque  designs  of  chandeliers  made  of  bones  hang 
from  arehes.  Bones  are  placed  in  every  conceivable  shape  and 
tastefully  arranged,  if  skeletons  and  odds  and  ends  of  long- 
dead  humanity  could  look  well.  There  are  skeletons  dressed 
in  the  lirown  garments  of  the  order,  as  if  to  accentuate  this 
"  bonery."  The  place  has  always  held  a  fascination  for  the 
brotherhood,  each  looking  placidly  to  the  time  when  he  for  a 
while  would  become  one  of  the  "lay"  members;  that  is,  until 
his  time  came  to  help  in  the  decorations  and  some  other  one 
would  lie  in  his  place.  It  is  rather  hard  for  them,  for  no 
one  save  the  King  or  the  Pope  may  now  be  buried  within 
the  city's  walls.  These  Capuchins  ask  for  nothing  better  than 
to  lie  here,  if  only  a  short  time,  for  the  earth  in  these  chapels 
is  consecrated  and  was  brought  from  Jerusalem.  A  few  years' 
l)urial  here,  when  the  longest  dead  must  make  room  for  the 
newcomer,  is  dearer  to  them  than  any  other  resting-place.  I 
was  glad  to  get  out  and  look  up  into  the  blue  sky.  In  that 
jilace  of  skulls  and  bones  it  is  liard  to  think  of  anything  save 
the  earth,  earthy. 

Modern  Rome  is  not  at  all  interesting.  They  have  had  their 
boom  and  regret  it,  for  progress  has  destroyed  romance,  and  that 
which  one  does  not  expect  of  Rome  greets  us  in  the  new  quar- 
ters. We  see  long  lines  of  cheap,  unsafe  buildings,  cracked  and 
miserable  stucco,  tenantless  blocks,  the  result  of  a  rage  for  specu- 
lation, from  which  it  will  take  time  to  recover. 

Tl)e  founders  of  Rome  did  not  so  l)uild.  I  was  in  a  palace 
here,  built  liefore  America  was  discovered,  that  seemed  as  perfect 
as  if  just  tinished.  but  there  are  thousands  of  buildings,  walls, 
and  monuments  that  speak  of  solidity  and  strength.  Therein 
lies  the  charm  of  the  old  city,  with  her  twenty  centuries  and 
more  of  history.  There  are  monuments  upon  monuments,  road 
upon  road,  grand  ruins  upon  the  Palatine  Hill,  and  the  palace  of 
the  Caesars,  where  walls  are  intact  and  frescoes  stand  clear 
and  bright  after  more  than  seventeen  hundred  years,  and  mosaics 
and  decorations  of  rooms  that  are  still  l)eautiful.  They  laid  the 
solid  foundations  of  these    giant  structures,  and   ])uilded  better 


120 


A   Woman's  Wanderings. 


than  they  knew.  Yet  their  idea  of  greatness  seemed  only  that  of 
size  and  strength.  They  Iniilt  roads  that  also  have  lasted  for 
decades  of  centuries,  as  they  did  aqueducts  and  fortifications. 
All  they  built  and  planned  was  solid  and  very  practical,  but  it 
seems  rather  hard  on  those  old  Romans  that,  when  it  came  to 
beautifying  and  decorating,  they  had  to  call  upon  their  Greek 
slaves  to  do  the  work.  So  it  went  on  for  centuries.  They 
watched  and  tried  to  imitate,  l)ut  it  was  a  poor  imitation.  The 
Romans  were  never  original  in  art;  that  they  were  in  crime  goes 
witliout  saying. 

The  solidity  of  their  works  is  shown  in  the  Coliseum,  that 
huge  circle  of  stone,  brick,  and  mortar  that  looks  as  if  it  might 
endure  for  ages  to  come.  One  does  not  think  much  of  the  work 
which  we  see;  the  walls,  which  rise  heavenward  to  such  great 
height,  nor  of  the  men  who  hewed,  lifted  and  put  those  stones  in 
j)lace.  We  know  it  to  be  the  work  of  men's  hands;  the  work  of 
men's  hearts;  that  unnumbered  captives  died,  but  what  were 
slaves  for  in  those  days?     The  w^onderful  building  strikes  us  not 


r^ 


COI-ISKTM,     ROME. 


Italy.  121 

so  forcibly  as  the  motive,  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  l)uilt.  I 
muse  more  upon  those  who  fought,  died,  and  left  no  word  of 
themselves. 

Scenes  come  before  tlie  mind,  crossing  and  recrossing  them- 
selves like  spider  webs.  I  think  of  the  slaves  and  prisoners  who 
gave  their  lives  here  in  the  open  space  where  I  sit,  and  watch 
the  l)right  sunshine  flooding  the  old  arena,  whose  sands  drank 
the  blood  of  beasts,  of  men  and  women,  that  the  rulers  might  en- 
joy a  pleasant  hour.  I  gaze  into  dark,  dreary  vaults,  through 
apertures  dimly  seen;  into  old  arches  and  cells  cut  in  the  tufa 
rock,  where  hungry  l^easts  were  starved  to  make  them  more  fero- 
cious, or,  if  it  suited  the  mood  of  the  ruler  for  the  hour,  they  were 
fed  on  human  beings.  I  think  of  the  five  hundred  years  this 
carnage  was  carried  on;  the  years  that  followed  after  Christ 
walked  this  earth,  of  the  martyrs  who  died  for  their  faith  —  and 
am  glad  to  see  it  in  ruins;  glad  to  know  that  in  all  the  centuries 
since  it  has  been  only  a  monument  of  all  that  was  fiendish,  cruel, 
and  vile  in  man.  What  else  could  one  expect  of  those  rulers  of 
the  world,  save  bestiality  and  cruelty?  When  Aristippus  pul)- 
licly  taught  "that  sensual  enjoyment  was  the  only  good,"  what 
wonder  that  Christians  died  for  faith  and  truth  and  purity?  I 
am  not  here,  however,  hunting  up  records  for  morals.  The  deso- 
late ruins,  the  ghastly  deeds  of  the  past,  teach  much  or  little. 

I  saw  a  savage  wretch,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  direct 
descendant  of  Romulus'  wet-nurse,  beat  a  poor  beast  here  one 
day,  and  the  crowd  looked  smilingly  on,  showing  that  the  spirit 
of  torture  which  existed  in  the  days  of  imperial  Rome  is  extant 
to-day.  I  saw  a  man  beat  and  choke  his  wife  one  night,  and 
try  to  throw  her  from  a  window.  The  crowd  in  the  street  seemed 
to  enjoy  it.  I  saw  several  women  fighting  under  my  window 
late  one  night,  while  the  men  applauded,  and  so  the  world  goes 
on.  So  I  say  again,  it  is  better  to  enjov  that  which  is  enjoyable 
than  delve  too  deeply  in  past  history,  taking  the  best,  and  leav- 
ing the  worst,  for  there  is  much  to  be  enjoyed. 

We  leave  the  old  place  with  its  ghostly  memories  and  go  out 
through  the  arch  of  Constantine.  and  lieyond  the  walls  where  the 
breezes  blow  fresh  and  sweet  from  the  Campagna.  We  watch 
the  coming  and  going  of  the  jieople.  see  the  river  turning  west- 


122  A  Woman's  Wandkhixgs. 

ward,  and  the  cool  shadows  quench  the  hright  Hght  of  the  sun, 
and  we  let  our  thoughts  and  dreams  run  forward  instead  of  back- 
ward, until  the  cool  breezes  of  night  warn  us  that  it  is  time  to 
leave  the  lanes  and  go  l)ack  to  our  hotel. 

And  so  the  days  i)ass  quickly,  something  new  calling  one  out 
every  day;  or  if  not  new,  the  same  things  may  be  seen  time  and 
again.  One  does  not  tire  here,  and  in  this  lies  Rome's  chief 
charm,  for  the  city  means,  if  one  reads  the  meaning  rightly,  ages 
of  plunder,  murder,  agony,  and  death.  Almost  every  church 
holds  its  tragedy  —  mystery,  carnage,  and  terror  greet  us  on  the 
threshold  and  in  the  old  ruins,  and  the  magic  of  mystery  draws 
us  to  her  with  such  force,  that  one's  whole  being  is  enthralled  and 
enchanted.  A  bit  of  sculpture,  a  line,  a  sketch,  engrosses  the 
mind;  for  they  breathe  the  threefold  mystery  of  love,  eternity, 
and  death. 

And  then  there  comes  into  the  senses  an  hour  of  retrospection 
amid  the  groves  of  the  Medici  villa,  out  of  the  dust  and  gloom  of 
churches  and  chill  palaces,  away  from  streets  and  the  busy  life 
below  me.  The  evening  sun  flung  its  mantle  over  the  city, 
snatches  of  song,  natural  as  bird  notes,  strayed  through  the  sweet 
wildness,  and  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  no  sin,  sorrow,  or  troubled 
past;  that  the  golden  age  of  man  had  come.  Pan  was  playing 
on  his  pipes,  l)ut  it  was  only  the  contadini  going  home  to  the 
Campagna. 

November  is  ended;  we  had  our  Thanksgiving  turkey  under 
difficulties,  for  the  idea  of  serving  a  bird  whole  appalled  our 
German  landlord,  but  we  insisted  on  having  our  way.  The  din- 
ner served  in  the  privacy  of  my  apartments  was  a  success;  our 
flag  floated  above  the  wishbone  of  that  bird,  foreign  no  longer,  but 
naturalized  under  our  Stars  and  Stripes;  we  had  mince  pie,  though 
the  pie  cost  nearly  as  much  as  the  turkey;  this  we  obtained  from 
the  English  tea-rooms.  They  staggered  when  I  ordered  pumpkin 
pie.  They  knew  what  custard  meant,  but  pumpkin  pie  was  be- 
yond their  comprehension. 

Six  weeks  in  Rome,  with  never  an  idle  or  disagreeable  day, 
yet  interest  never  flags.  Her  treasures  are  inexhaustible,  and 
it  is  well,  for  we  are  here  for  a  much  longer  time  than  we 
expected.  The  jilague  is  wandering  al)Out  in  an  idle  sort  of 
way  in   Egypt,  sufficiently  strong  to  make  t[uarantine  a  neces- 


Italy.  123 

sity  in  places,  so  we  will  proliably  l)e  ()l)li<j;e(l  to  tinish  the 
year  in  Italy. 

We  have  had  hut  little  rain  so  far.  The  days  have  been 
warm  and  bright,  with  slight  frosts  at  nights  and  chilly  mornings. 
The  chrysanthemums  show  the  effects  of  frost.  Other  than 
tliat,  there  is  little  evidence  that  winter  is  near. 

People  who  do  not  know  California,  coming  from  the  East- 
ern States  and  northern  Europe,  rave  over  the  climate,  and 
bring  up  the  price  of  paper  by  writing  home  reams  of  nonsense 
about  matchless  skies,  sunshine,  etc.  We  who  know  so  well 
what  warm  sunshine  and  blue  skies  in  autumn  mean,  take  it 
for  granted.  It  is  home-like,  and  we  bask  in  the  sun  and  love 
it  as  well  as  the  most  comfort-loving  Italian.  I  know  that 
for  the  time  of  the  year  it  is  colder  at  nights  than  in  Sacra- 
mento, although  the  days  are  delightful;  but  whether  in  the 
streets,  on  the  hills,  or  down  in  subterranean  Rome,  it  has 
been  charming  to  be  out  in  the  open  air.  I  can  only  single 
out  a  day  now  and  then  to  write  of,  though  each  day  would 
fill  pages  if  written  as  I  see  it. 

First,  'I  will  speak  of  the  Capitohne  Hill,  Rome's  sacred 
fortress,  where  Romulus  and  his  men  carried  off  the  Sabine 
girls.  Here  are  the  museums  and  galleries,  which  contain  much 
that  is  good  in  painting  and  sculpture,  the  Venus  and  Dying 
Gaul  being  more  widely  known  and  copied  than  any  others, 
save  those  best  known  in  the  Vatican.  The  church  with  the 
celebrated  Bambino  is  near  here  also.  We  go  from  it  to  the 
Tarpeian  Rock,  which  bears  the  name  of  the  girl  who  for  the 
promise  of  a  golden  trinket  willingly  opened  the  gate  of  the 
fortress  for  the  Sa1)ines  —  who  slew  her  after  they  entered;  thus 
showing  their  contempt  for  treachery,  even  though  they  profited 
by  it.  It  is  not  much  of  a  hill  now.  A  good  athlete  might  take 
his  chances  and  try  the  jump  at  no  great  risk.  The  place  is  fenced 
in,  and  the  streets  swarm  with  beggars.  We  pay  to  have  the  gate 
opened,  and  have  a  respite  for  a  time.  But.  looking  over  the 
wall  and  into  an  open  covirt  below,  surrounded  by  tenement 
houses,  are  other  hordes  of  children,  turning  somersaults  and 
crying  out  for  money.  They  are  so  insistent  and  saucy  that  it 
jars  upon  one. 

The  place  is  utterly  unlike  what  one  expects  from  the  vivid 


124  A   Woman's  Wandkri.nxis. 

de5cri})tioui^  some  romantic  writers  have  given  lis.  A  low 
stone  wall  runs  along  the  edge  of  the  hill,  marking  the  place 
where  men  were  hurled  from  the  rock.  Trees,  flowers,  and 
tangled  vines  are  in  the  fragrant  garden,  where  in  the  Middle 
Ages  men  were  drawn,  quartered,  hanged,  and  butchered  until 
even  Rome  sickened  of  it,  and  the  place  of  execution  was 
changed.  Nature  has  been  good,  and  for  four  centuries  has  been 
purifying  the  place.  It  is  quiet  and  peaceful  now.  The  flowers 
bloom,  ])irds  sing,  and  children  play. 

I  think  sometimes  people  who  do  not  read  are  spared  a  good 
deal  of  pain.  So  are  those  to  whom  the  past  is  a  sealed  book. 
Is  it  better  to  know  and  suffer  because  others  have  suffered,  or 
live  in  ignorance  of  it? 

From  the  hill  we  went  down  to  the  Mamertine  prison,  where 
Peter  and  Paul  were  imprisoned.  We  were  told  many  absurd 
stories;  saw  the  miraculous  spring  that  gushed  from  the  rock 
that  they  might  baptize  their  converts;  saw  the  black  dungeon 
where  Jugurtha  was  lowered  through  a  hole  and  left  to  starve 
while  his  captors  feasted.  There  may  be  some  truth  and  much 
fiction,  but  we  question  not.  We  know  that  in  his  lifetime  Paul 
wandered  about  the  streets  in  Rome;  that  he  lived,  loved,  and 
wrote  to  the  Romans;  and  that  his  life  ended  here. 

One  must  have  faith  to  believe  in  the  three  miraculous 
springs  shown  us  far  out  beyond  the  great,  beautiful  church, 
Santa  Paola  —  which  sprang  into  existence  where  Paul  was 
beheaded.  Just  as  we  must  believe,  also,  when  in  the  small, 
circular  chapel  upon  the  crest  of  the  hill  where  Peter  was 
crucified,  we  are  shown  the  hole  in  which  the  cross  was  planted. 
A  grating  covers  it  and  a  lamp  suspended  above  it  burns 
always.  A  lirown-elad  monk  gravely  lifts  a  l)it  of  sand  from 
the  six  feet  below  with  a  tiny  hoe  and  tenders  it  to  us.  We 
pay  him  for  his  trouble  and  refuse  the  sand  which  since  1499 
has  been  given  out  as  the  sand  that  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross.  It  is  sand,  pure  and  simple,  and  suits  the  demand  of 
the  tourist  who  cares  for  such  things  —  so  what  matters  it  if 
a  few  tons  are  carried  away  in  the  course  of  centuries? 

It  is  only  a  short  step  from  the  prison  and  around  the  Forum 
to  the  Palatine  Hill,  where  are  piled  ruins  upon  ruins,  the 
chosen    and    once-loved    site  of  Rome's  mighty  rulers.     Angus- 


Itai.v. 


125 


tus'  splendid  palace  was  a  foundation  for  that  of  the  followinji; 
Csesars,  which  covered  eventually  the  whole  hill.  Under  Nero 
it  extended  still  farther,  covering  more  ground,  each  trying  to 
outdo  his  predecessor.  I  despair  of  describing  the  multitu- 
dinous array  of  chambers,  columns,  temples,  baths,  halls,  and 
frescoes,  which  are  in  bewildering  confusion.  I  saw  the  dining- 
room  where  Nero  sat  at  dinner,  eating  while  his  step-l)rother 
drank  the  poisoned  wine  he  had  prepared  for  him. 

Near  the  great  dining-room,  we  saw  a  small    but  disgusting 
memorial  of  the  imperial  life  in  Rome — the  Vomitorium,  whither 


t^„^^^ 


iVW    i'Ai.AIINK.     IHLMK. 


the  feasters  retired  when  sated  to  tickle  their  throats  with 
feathers,  returning  afterwards  with  renewed  vigor  for  more 
feasting. 

The  frescoes  are  still  bright  upon  the  walls  of  Livia's  rooms, 
she  whom  Augustus  took  from  her  husband,  a  willing  or  unwill- 
ing wife,  we  know  not.  Caligula  lived  here,  too,  and  for  pas- 
time fed  the  wild  beasts  of  the  arena  with  slaves  when  other 
food  was  scarce.  We  went  through  the  rooms  where  he  was 
murdered. 


126  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

For  hours  we  wandered  tliroULdi  ruins  heapL'il  ui)()n  ruins  — 
fragments  of  Rome's  once  glorious  temples  —  went  down  in  deep 
underground  vaults,  looking  on  walls  and  arches  still  firm 
enough  to  last  for  centuries  —  stood  on  ghost-haunted  thresholds, 
where,  on  beautiful  bits  of  mosaic  floors,  lizards  bask  in  the 
sun,  and  weeds  and  grasses  grow  where  the  world's  rulers  walked. 
I  sat  in  tlie  shade  of  the  ilex  trees,  which  grow  now  where 
the  sacred  grove  once  stood.  Here  lived  the  Gracchi,  and  here 
lived  Romulus  in  his  ca1)in  of  reeds,  happily  enough,  perhaps, 
before  ambition  seized  him  —  liefore  he  l)egan  the  great  wall 
farther  down  on  the  slopes,  and  ])efore  he  slew  his  l)rother, 
Remus.  What  tales  these  ancient,  In'oken  walls  tell  us  !  The 
gloomy  caverns,  grottoes,  dungeons,  ruined  porticoes,  and  temples 

—  what  bacchanals,  pollution,  folly,  horror,  and  brutality  have 
they  not  witnessed.  Strange,  wondrous  walls, — each  stone  has 
echoed  the  roars  of  revelers,  the  last  shriek  of  agony,  of  crime, 
or  the  faint  sweet  whispers  of  love. 

Then  there  is  Nero's  golden  house  reaching  to  the  distant 
Esquilline  inclosing  the  Palatine  and  Coelian  hills.  There 
were  lakes,  forests,  subterranean  galleries,  cool  halls  for  heat 
in  summer,  baths  with  water  from  the  sea,  and  sulphur  liatlis 

—  everything  the  world  could  give  in  the  way  of  luxury  and 
adornment.  Greece  was  robbed  and  beggared  for  the  golden 
palace.  Now  only  faint  traces  remain  of  the  splendor  of  the 
dead  past. 

The  Coliseum  is  all  that  is  left  in  this  vicinity  to  show  what 
it  must  have  been.  And  while  its  walls  are  stanch,  it  shows 
the  marks  of  the  despoilers.  Human  woodpeckers  have  bored 
holes  in  the  walls  until  they  look  like  trees  where  the  birds 
vStore  acorns.  Only  the  human  vandals,  after  taking  the  marble, 
extracted  every  l)it  of  iron  or  Itronze  that  could  ])e  found  in 
the  walls. 

All  is  silent  u})on  the  old  hills.  The  melancholy  chirrup  of 
a  cricket  in  the  grasses  comes  to  me.  The  winds  sigh  softly 
among  the  trees.  I  pluck  a  branch  of  laurel  leaves  and  think 
of  the  garlands  that  wreathed  the  ])rows  of  the  long  dead. 
Solemn  thoughts  Hit  through  tlM'  l)rain  as  we  leave  the  deso- 
late arches,  broken  and  cdoven  l)y  long  centuries,  where  delicate 
creeping  vines  twine  about  fragments  of  glorious  Sculpture.     We 


Italy.  127 

tread  the  very  ^oil  where  the  world's  ,<ireat?st  traj^edies  were 
enacted.  It  is  only  in  Rome  that  the  mind  can  realize  these 
strangely  distinct  visions  which  pass  and  repass  in  endless 
confusion,  from  a  wonderful  past.  Grai)hie  and  vivid  are  the 
pages  of  history  written  here.  Each  stone,  each  pillar,  is  asso- 
ciated witli  a  past  that  transfixes  us,  as  reflections,  persistent 
and  unbidden,  come  and  go. 

Down  lielow  the  Palatine  is  where  Ca?sar  fell.  I  think  how  he 
and  his  rival,  Pompey,  disi)Uted  the  empire  of  the  world,  and 
how  one  fell  l)y  the  hand  of  a  slave,  the  other  l)y  his  best-l)eloved 
friend,  ending  his  career  at  the  foot  of  his  rival's  statue.  In 
blood  they  lived,  l)y  violence  died.  The  unerring  hand  of  Jus- 
tice rights  things  in  the  end.  Their  glory  has  dei)arted.  Those 
who  ruled  in  wisdom  or  folly  are  gone.  Medieval  shadows  wa\ap 
their  abodes  in  gloom  and  mystery. 

We  go  V)ack  through  the  arch  of  Titus,  wdiere  captive  Jews, 
with  heavy  hearts,  were  forced  to  place  the  stones  and  put  in 
shape  an  arch  to  commemorate  the  downfall  of  Jerusalem.  Like 
so  many  other  things  here,  it  has  been  restoreil  until  little  of  the 
original  is  left — though  some  bas-reliefs  and  the  seven  golden 
candlesticks  stand  boldly  out  on  the  little  remnant  of  the  ancient 
arch. 

We  pass  along  the  Via  Sacra,  wdiere  Roman  armies  passed  and 
captives  groaned.  Cicero  had  walked  over  those  same  flat  stones, 
and  Horace's  feet  probably  kept  time  with  the  ode  in  his  mind. 

We  go  past  the  Forum,  and  from  these  scenes  and  thoughts  of 
the  Caesars  the  mind  flies  to  a  father — a  Roman  father  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  w'ord  —  and  to  the  stream  of  l)lood  that  flowed 
from  the  breast  of  Virginia.  Death  before  dishonor!  How  dif- 
ferent her  father  to  that  of  Beatrice  Cenci. 

Imagination  runs  riot  now,  groping  in  the  dim  aisles  of  tradi- 
tion, and  taking  strange  fanciful  excursions  into  realms  of  the 
past.  At  every  turn  there  is  something  to  appeal  to  the  mind. 
We  read  inscriptions  that  tell  of  love  and  sorrow  that  have  so 
long  survived  the  hands  that  WTote,  the  lips  that  uttered  them, 
and  a  thrill  of  sadness  comes  over  one  in  looking  on  ruined 
tomljs. 

There  are  days  and  days  spent  in  such  scenes  as  described  or 
among  galleries,  museums,  and  churches.     We  go  home  at  night, 


128  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

tired  of  walkinu-  over  tIr'  uncomfortable  rough  little  squares  of 
lava  with  which  the  streets  are  paved.  It  is,  I  think,  penance 
enough  for  most  sins  to  walk  much  in  Rome's  intricate  streets, 
through  narrow  alley-like  ways,  where  the  sun  never  shines  and 
the  chill  winds  swee|)  around  the  corners;  where  women  sit  in 
the  shop  doors  with  little  l)raziers  of  charcoal,  Avarming  their 
hands.  Sucli  a  thing  as  a  stove  and  a  good  fire  in  a  shop  I  have 
not  seen.  The  damp  of  dungeon-like  churches  is  in  our  lungs. 
We  grow  so  tired  of  the  great,  tall,  yellow  buildings,  and  weary 
of  clim])ing  endless  stony  stairs. 

(to  where  you  will  in  most  places  where  there  is  anything 
worth  seeing  inside  of  walls,  it  is  damp  and  cold,  and  sometimes 
we  wonder  if  it  is  worth  the  time  and  discomfort.  Yet  a  single 
night's  rest,  and  it  is  wonderful  how  changed  is  everything.  I 
know  by  experience  how  soon  one  forgets  all  that  is  disagreeable. 

In  all  the  years  gone  by  since  I  passed  another  winter  in 
Rome,  my  heart-strings  have  in  some  mysterious  way  been  pulled 
toward  this  old  city.  People  who  go  al)out  hurriedly  with  a 
guide,  seeing  the  principal  places  in  a  week,  can  never  know  or 
love  Rome.  It  is  only  in  a  long  acquaintance,  like  a  friendship, 
that  grows  and  takes  firm  root  in  the  heart  proves  lasting.  Thus 
it  becomes  engraven  on  the  affections,  and  a  familiarity  with  its 
solemn  walls,  the  varying  sunshine  of  the  hills,  and  days  of  com- 
panionship with  the  buildings  and  remnants  of  temples,  make  it 
dearer  than  any  other  city  in  the  world. 

The  hurried  glance  at  huge  basilicas,  churches,  and  tombs, 
filled  with  a  sort  of  sameness  in  gaudy  ceilings,  columns,  and 
monuments  of  marble,  is  scarcely  worth  the  time.  It  is  the 
gradually  acc^uired  knowdedge  of  the  history  of  each  and  every 
place  worth  seeing;  the  moldering  frescoes,  the  ancient  toml)s  — 
each  having  a  meaning  if  one  cares  to  find  it.  It  is  hard  work, 
certainly,  yet  wisdom  is  bought  often  with  care  and  pain,  and  it 
is  worth  the  trouble.  Those  who  come  to  enjoy  life  in  Rome  as 
in  other  cities  can  never  love  her.  The  distances  between  the 
great  points  of  interest  take  up  much  time.  The  more  one  reads 
and  studies,  the  better  one  understands  and  appreciates  the  his- 
torical city.  There  is  much  to  awaken  and  elevate  the  mind. 
The  memories  will  sink  deep  into  the  heart  and  become  a  part  of 
one's  self,  never  to  fade  in  after  life. 


Italy.  129 

\\\'  have  (»ur  }>lay  days,  however,  -wlirn  out  bevoiid  the  walls 
on  the  Campagna  we  lie  for  hours  on  the  soft  sod,  and  lind  joy  in 
mere  existenee. 

The  country  that  lies  al>out  Rome  cannot  he  dull  or  unin- 
teresting to  any  one  who  has  read  and  iniderstands  history  or 
possesses  an  appreciative  soul.  Lying  in  undulating  lines,  l)are 
and  treeless,  are  the  })lains,  stretching  northward  where  rise 
a  line  of  bare  mountains,  like  our  Coast  Range.  They  are 
the  Alban  and  Sabine  mountains,  gleaming  blue  and  misty. 
White  villages  shoAV  here  and  there  on  the  slopes,  l)ut  always 
on  some  spur  and  alcove  the  level  of  the  Campagna.  The  long 
lines  of  ])roken  aqueducts  lend  a  charm.  There  is  a  picture 
wherever  you  turn  —  a  wonderful  changing  panorama,  now  soft- 
ened into  the  yellows  and  browns  of  autumn,  though  the  grass 
is  green  and  the  sod  is  covered  with  daisies. 

Everywhere  we  see  the  reddish-brown  pozzolana  earth,  which 
lies  about  Rome.  This  volcanic  dust  shows  an  abundance  of 
iron,  besides  other  minerals.  This  material,  mixed  Avith  lime 
anil  water.  ft)rmed  the  wonderful  cement  used  by  the  Romans 
for  Iniilding  their  enormous  domes,  vaults,  etc.  The  strength 
of  the  walls  of  the  l)aths  of  Caracalla,  built  of  thin  brick  and 
this  compound,  seem  to  resist  Time's  destructive  forces  better 
than  any  Iniilt  of  stone.  The  dural)ility  of  the  work  done  is 
shown  perhaps  lietter  in  the  Cloaca  Maxima,  the  ancient  sewer, 
made  by  some  unknown  engineer  two  thousand  fou]'  hundred 
yeai's  ago.  Xo  puldie  work  ever  done  in  Rome  surpasses  in 
utility  the  Tarquinian  sewers.  Why  they  should  have  been 
called  monuments  of  tyranny  any  more  than  those  vast  edi- 
fices put  aboveground  is  strange,  for  they  alone  have  been  in 
use  all  the  years  since  built.  This  sewer  is  easily  traced  through 
the  city,  and  in  a  new  wall  l>uilt  above  an  old  arch  I  saw  the 
sluggish  current  emptying  into  the  Til)er. 

Even  the  wonderful  stone  arches  of  the  aqueducts  were  broken 
and  destroyed  years  ago.  Though  some  have  been  repaired, 
others  are  new,  for  there  are  four  different  aqueducts  now  in 
use,  l)ringing  into  Rome  daily  an  amount  of  water  ec][ual  to 
one  hundred  and  ten  gallons  of  water  for  each  soul.  No  city 
in  Europe  has  anything  like  this  supply.  Small  wonder  that 
this  should  be   termed  a  city   of   fountains.     There  is  ever  the 


130 


A  Woman's  Wanderings. 


sound  of  falling  water  in  one's  ears  in  Rome.  They  flash  and 
sparkle  rainl)OW-hued  in  tlie  sun,  or  show  liazy  and  misty  in  the 
moonlight.  There  is  no  stint  or  limit  of  water.  In  tliis  tlie 
Romans  have  shown  good  judgment.  The  Claudian  aqueducts, 
finished  in  50  A.D.,  were  ten  in  numlier,  and  were  carried  a 
length  of  forty-six  miles  aboveground.  Others  In-ing  it  now  a 
distance  of  sixty-seven  miles.  They  never  thought  of  using  the 
muddy  waters  of  the  river,  hut  went  to  the  mountains,  bringing 
it  clear  and  pure  into  the  city. 


AI'l'lAN     W   \^     AM)    (i.AlDlAN     AQVEDUCT,    ROME. 


There  is  one  road  that  leads  from  the  old  Forum  through  and 
beyond  the  gates  that  is  known  throughout  the  world — the  Ap- 
pian  road.  This  and  the  aqueducts  bear  the  name  of  the  censor  Ap- 
pius  Claudius.  The  road  that  has  been  excavated  and  resurrected 
after  a  burial  of  a  thousand  years,  is  in  fine  condition  now  for  a 
distance  outside  the  gates  —  but  three  miles  beyond  narrows  to 
the  ancient  width  of  fifteen  feet. 

We  drove  out  to  the  Catacombs  over  this  old  road,  the  Via  Ap- 
pia,  which  once  led  to  Greece,  to  Asia,  and  to  Africa.  We  went 
into  the  subterrannean  passages,  tier  al)ove  tier,  through  tunnels 


Italy.  131 

and  streets,  sad,  silent  avennes.  There  wen-  skeletons  of  mar- 
tyred Christians,  eaeh  with  his  lachrvniatory,  now  dry,  and  the 
little  lamps  that  went  out  more  than  tifteen  centuries  ago.  We 
passed  in  and  through  sunless  lal)vrinths,  dark  and  gloomy. 
But  little  is  left  of  all  that  was  found  in  these  numl)erless  miles 
of  narrow,  intricate  passages,  and  the  chapels  where  early  Chris- 
tians worshiped  in  secrecy,  away  from  their  cruel  persecutors. 
It  is  damp  and  cold.  ^^^'  shudder,  and  are  glad  to  return  to 
the  surface,  to  be  in  the  l)lessed  sunshine.  We  go  on  and  on 
along  that  old  tomb-lined  way,  past  Cecilia  Metella's  tomb, 
wdiicli,  like  Hadrian's,  Augustus',  and  so  many  others,  have 
been  used  for  other  purposes.  The  first  tAVO  were  used  as 
fortresses  and  the  last  for  a  circus. 

Turning  from  all  that  is  retrospective,  we  observe  life  on  the 
celebrated  old  road.  It  is  filled  with  vehicles  of  all  sorts  — 
peasants  in  picturesque  head-gear,  adorned  wdth  cords,  tassels, 
flowers,  and  peacock  feathers,  with  ragged  waistcoats  of  any 
hue,  pockets  patched,  but  with  a  bit  of  color.  There  is  a  touch 
that  is  picturesque,  from  the  piece  of  sheepskin  wound  about 
the  feet  and  laced  up  as  far  as  the  knee.  Anything  else  would 
be  out  of  place.     They  suit  the  In'oken  fragments  lining  the  road. 

Strangely  enough,  for  the  artist  or  poet  there  must  1)e  a 
degradation  of  something,  wdiether  it  l)e  an  old  ruin,  a  l)roken, 
blotched  fragment  of  sculpture,  wall,  or  stucco,  a  line  of  clothes^ 
flapping  against  a  wall,  a  torn  and  tattered  cloak  or  hat,  frowz}^ 
unkempt  hair  all  a-tangle  over  a  forehead  the  color  of  mahog- 
any, or  a  pair  of  wonderful  eyes  gleaming  from  under  locks 
one  w^ould  not  care  to  touch.  But  all  these  fire  the  soul  of 
the  artist,  and  we  Iniy  the  pictures,  but  are  careful  to  avoid 
the  models.  Thrift  and  cleanliness  are  ever  at  war  with  the 
picturesque.  The  world  would  be  the  loser  if  the  artist  and 
poet  were  not  content  with  the  unkempt  and  unclean  contadini. 

The  entirely  new,  though  comfortable,  is  prosaic,  but  daubs 
of  grays  and  yellows,  broken  l)its  of  mortar,  and  houses  wdth 
barnacle-like  attachments  of  barred  windows,  look  w^ell  in  }iaint- 
ings,  as  do  the  shepherds  with  pieces  of  goatskin  over  their 
shoulders,  being  the  very  type  of  the  mythic  Pan  watching 
over  their  herds. 

Horses  go  by  in  carts  adorned  with  bright  rosettes  and  feathers, 


132  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

each  horse  shorn  of  its  taih  wiiicli  very  often  is  tied  in  a  bunch, 
adorned  with  l)right-eolored  yarns  and  liung  between  his  fore 
legs.  We  ean  no  more  tell  why  they  do  this  than  we  could  say 
why  they  put  the  long  tails  on  the  caps  of  the  King's  guards, 
or  why  the  soldiers  riding  in  the  lanes  and  parks  use  the  tails 
of  horses,  which  are  mounted  on  a  short  stick,  for  brushing  away 
the  flies.  Nature  has  a  poor  show  here  in  some  respects.  In- 
dividuality and  variety  count  for  something,  and  if  the  beasts 
suffer,  that  is  not  considered  in  Italy. 

But  the  sun  shines  over  all;  the  skies  and  clouds  are  not 
for  any  nation.  It  is  beautiful  here  beyond  telling.  So  rich 
is  the  coloring,  the  painter  dare  not  put  on  canvas  the  shad- 
ings of  the  olive  groves  or  the  changing  tints  of  the  lush 
growth  of  weeds. 

The  peculiarity  of  peasant  life  is  motley  and  curious,  but 
always  pleasing.  We  follow  the  heavy  carts  drawn  ])y  superb 
gray  oxen,  which  plod  steadily  along,  with  the  drivers  fast 
asleep,  a  long  line  and  an  endless  throng,  through  the  gates 
and  into  the  city. 

We  pause  at  the  door  of  the  church  where  is  the  Scala 
Santa  —  the  sacred  stairs  brought  from  Jerusalem,  up  which  the 
faithful  go  on  their  knees.  No  feet  are  allowed  to  climb  these 
steps.  And  then  we  listen  to  vespers  in  St.  John  Lateran.  The 
music  is  so  sweet,  so  restful.  Beautiful  melodies  stream  through 
those  dim  aisles  and  flood  the  heart — tones  that  call  up  lost 
and  forgotten  remembrances,  rising  up  and  up,  filling  the  blue 
arches  of  the  old  church.  A  pensive  melancholy  steals  into 
one's  soul.  We  slide  into  a  world  of  dreams  until  it  is  all  over, 
and  we  go  out  to  find  the  day  swallowed  up  in  dark,  chilly  mists. 

A  soft  gray  is  over  the  city.  The  sun  has  faded  into  cold 
ashes,  and  w^e  feel  how  futile  the  effort  to  try  to  tell  anything 
about  Rome.  Poets  and  sentimentalists  have  described  every 
thought  or  emotion  one  can  feel  or  has  felt.  Archaeologists  and 
antiquarians  have  finished  the  rest.  One  longs  for  new  words, 
new  ideas  to  express  the  satisfaction  and  endearing  thoughts  that 
fill  one  in  Rome. 

I  saw  two  processions  when  here, —  the  first  was  King  Umberto 
and  Queen  Margharita  in  all  the  pomp  of  decorated  carriages, 
footmen  and  coachmen  in  scarlet,  gold  and  silver,  with  powdered 


Italy.  133 

wigs,  superl)  horset>,  and  ordinary-looking  oflieials.  It  was  a 
long,  glittering  line  passing  through  crowded  streets — the  Queen 
gracious,  smiling  and  bowing  to  her  undemonstrative  subjects 
—  the  King  following  after  on  the  way  to  open  Parliament, 
and  seeming  to  be  more  interested  in  the  cares  of  state  and 
the  line  of  soldiers  than  he  Avas  with  liis  i)eople,  many  of 
whom  did  nothing  l)Ut  stare,  a  man  now  and  then  taking  off 
his  liat.  Yet  I  fancy  these  peojile  are  as  fond  of  their  rulers 
as  are  those  of  most  other  nations. 

I  could  not  l)ut  notice  the  line  of  soldiers  and  iiojice,  as 
they  seemed  so  undersized.  Standing  near  them,Ave  found  no 
difficulty  in  looking  over  their  heads.  What  we  would  call  an 
ordinary-sized  man  is  looked  upon  here  as  l)eing  remarkably 
tall.  But  the  men  throughout  Italy  are  decidedly  below  the 
standard  in  size.  I  think  it  might  he  a  good  thing  for  Italy 
if  history  could  repeat  itself,  and  in  lieu  of  another  rape  of 
the  Sabines,  the  Italian  women  could  make  a  raid  on  some 
other  nation  and  carry  off  a  few  fine,  athletic  men,  and  so 
raise  up  a  new  generation  of  soldiers.  They  might  be  as  use- 
less as  these  of  the  present  day,  luit  would  look  l>etter  in 
trousers. 

The  other  procession  was  more  demonstrative,  if  different. 
There  were  the  same  crowd-filled  streets,  with  soldiers  guard- 
ing the  line  along  AA-hich  came  the  hearse  bearing  the  dead 
mayor.  Such  an  almndance  of  floAvers  I  have  never  seen  excei)t 
at  a  floral  festiA^al.  The  hearses  are  a  sort  of  two-story  affairs. 
There  were  tAvo  of  them  —  Avhy,  I  knoAv  not  —  literally  covered 
Avith  fioAvers,  eml)lems,  and  l»road  ril)bons.  There  Avere  innu- 
merable carriages  Avithout  occupants,  filled  Avith  bouquets  and 
wreaths,  often  one  Avreath  lieing  of  such  immense  size  that  it 
completely  filled  an  open  carrage.  Among  the  floAvers  Avere 
some  of  the  most  magnificent  orchids  I  have  ever  seen.  Other 
designs  required  the  strength  of  tAA'o  men  to  carry  them. 
Then  came  state  and  church  officials,  societies,  bands  of  music, 
soldiers  of  state,  or  I  suppose  so.  They  Avould  have  been  all 
right  at  a  masked  ball,  and  Avere  more  fantastic  than  the  SavIss 
Guards  at  the  Vatican.  The  crowd  laughed  and  had  fun  with 
the  stragglers,  and  gave  quiet  cheers  for  the  music  after  the 
hearse   had  gone   by.     There  were   many   feeble   old    men    and 


134  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

women,  and  little  children  too,  all  from  charitable  institutions, 
I  think  —  although  I  wondered  why  it  was  necessary  for  them  to 
be  in  that  long  line,  requiring  more  than  half  an  hour  in  passing 
us. 

There  is  one  custom  in  vogue  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  which  I 
very  much  admire.  No  matter  how  hurried  a  man  may  be, 
when  a  hearse  goes  by  with  the  dead,  there  is  always  a  pause,  and 
the  hat  is  lifted  from  the  head. 

This  cortege  seemed  in  a  way  less  solemn  than  the  other 
procession,  and  while  the  crowd  pushed  and  jostled  each  other, 
they  were  good-natured  and  apparently  easily  managed.  The 
over-abundance  of  Bersaglieri  and  Carbinieri  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  it. 

The  streets  are  never  without  the  latter.  One  can  look  in  any 
direction  and  never  miss  one.  They  are  omnipresent.  The 
small,  wiry  Bersaglieri,  with  hat  loaded  with  cock's  plumes 
lodged  on  one  ear  —  the  slender,  quiet  Carbinieri  in  uniform  of 
black  with  silver  trimmings  —  theirs  is  the  duty  to  preserve  peace 
and  order  throughout  the  kingdom.  Always  in  pairs,  as  if  born 
twins,  they  not  only  fulfill  their  duty,  but  protect  each  other  in 
emergencies  and  lead  a  more  sociable  life  than  do  our  solitary 
policemen.  The  Carbinieri  corps  is  composed  of  soldiers  who 
have  served  three  years  of  obligatory  service  and  escaped  the 
slightest  military  punishment.  Their  promotion  from  the  ranks 
means  fine  uniforms  and  a  salary  of  about  twenty  dollars  per 
month.  They  are  quiet  and  gentle  with  the  crowds,  and  I  hear 
no  "  Move  on!"  as  I  did  in  Ireland. 

On  All  Souls'  Day,  when  all  of  Rome  seemed  to  be  at  the  ceme- 
tery, or  in  the  streets  leading  thereto,  one  poor  fellow  had  done 
something,  so  was  arrested.  His  wife,  hearing  of  it,  threw  her- 
self from  an  upper  story  and  was  killed.  The  Carbinieri  who 
arrested  him  told  me  of  it,  and  seemed  to  regret  that  he  was  the 
indirect  cause  of  the  suicide.     "  We  must  do  our  duty,"  he  said. 

We  tire  often  of  the  crowds  and  the  streets.  The  sunny  side 
is  warm  and  bright,  the  shaded  side  chilly  in  the  extreme.  Often 
there  is  ice  in  shaded  streets  until  noon.  It  is  the  sudden  changes 
from  heat  to  cold  that  make  Rome  disagreeable  in  winter.  But 
always  when  the  sun  shines  one  can  get  out  and  up  to  the  hills. 
Their  sunlit,  pine-crowned  heights  beckon  us  from  the  city.     So 


Italy.  135 

we  prowl  along  ylopes  ami  go  through  parks  and  gardens  in  the 
warm,  mild  air,  without  wraps,  when  it  would  be  impossible  to 
do  without  them  in  the  streets. 

I  remember  one  walk  across  the  Tiber,  in  Trastevere,  the  old 
part  of  Rome  —  crossing  a  bridge  that  has  spanned  the  old  river 
for  more  than  eighteen  centuries,  good  and  substantial  yet — so 
well  they  builded  in  tho§e  days.  I  wandered  among  people  who 
look  different,  and  keep  more  to  the  old  customs  than  elsewhere 
in  the  city. 

In  Trastevere  is  the  Farnesina  Palace,  which  Raphael  deco- 
rated. I  noted  here,  as  in  so  many  of  his  paintings,  the  face  of 
his  loved  Farnesina,  the  woman  who  was  his  life  and  whom  he 
loved  beyond  art.  Where  her  grave  is  I  know  not.  His  is  in  the 
Pantheon,  and  is  as  much  sought  after  as  is  that  of  Victor 
Emanuel. 

Bevond  the  spot  where  the  fair  Margaret  used  to  watch  and 
wait  for  her  artist  lover,  I  saw,  in  an  old  church,  Tasso's  tomb. 
The  one  fresco  in  Rome  of  Da  Vinci's  was  not  the  attraction  for 
me.  I  thought  of  the  life  torn  and  harassed,  the  humiliated, 
slighted,  and  imprisoned  man,  who  rests  peacefully  here  now,  and 
muse  on  the  strange  vicissitudes.  Was  it  through  the  weight  of 
oppression  —  his  wrongs  and  his  woes  —  that  the  world  is  the 
richer  for  his  harmonious  ''.Jerusalem  Delivered"? 

Near  here  is  the  Corsini  Palace,  containing,  besides  its  gallery 
of  paintings  and  sculpture,  one  of  those  dreadful  shafts,  closing 
by  a  balanced  trap-door  that  once  dropped  its  victims  out  of 
sight  forever.  Christina,  Queen  of  Sweden,  lived  here  once  —  the 
only  woman,  it  is  said,  who  ever  outdid  Lucretia  Borgia  in  all 
her  ways.  I  shiver  over  it  all  —  the  horror  of  the  old,  cruel  times 
—  and  tire  of  undraped  Venuses  and  leafless  Apollos. 

I  leave  the  cold  halls  and  go  up  the  slopes  to  the  tree-crowned 
Janiculum,  where  the  immense  statue  of  Garibaldi  overlooks  the 
entire  city.  From  this  place  there  is  no  better  view  of  Rome;  the 
vista  is  sublime  of  the  terraced  Pincio,  and  thick  foliaged  trees  of 
the  Borghese  gardens,  whose  green  crests  bound  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. The  sun  is  warm  and  bright,  and  a  haze  lingers  over  the 
housetops  and  streets.  To  the  north  rises  the  great  dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  against  a  slate-colored  sky  that  1)lends  and  harmonizes 
perfectl3^     The  stone  lantern  surmounting  the  dome,  white  and 


136  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

glistening,  gleams  bi-ightly  in  the  evening  sun.  The  Vatican — a 
long  line  of  yellow  walls —  stretches  liack  from  it,  and  shachjws 
brood  over  the  Pope's  rooms,  as  if  sheltering  and  protecting  the 
aged  occupant  of  that  mighty  multitude  of  rooms.  The  Vatican 
hills  are  bathed  in  the  warm,  rosy  light.  Men  are  at  work  in 
the  field,  and  gray  oxen  plod  slowly  along,  turning  the  rich  soil. 
All  is  quiet  and  peaceful. 

I  look  from  St.  Peter's  across  and  beyond  the  river,  over  a  city 
where  the  Apostle  took  his  last,  long,  lingering  look.  I  see  the 
remnants  of  old  Rome,  and  the  undulating  line  of  new  l)uildings 
covering  the  hills  beyond  the  King's  palace.  The  Caesars  have 
passed  away,  and  so  have  barbarism,  myths,  crime,  madness,  and 
chaos.  Peace,  love,  and  good-will  have  triumphed.  And  the  sun 
sank  toward  Ostia  along  the  way  where  went  8aul  of  Tarsus. 
The  whole  western  world  glowed  in  rich,  flame-colored  banners, 
mingling  with  masses  of  lowering  purple  clouds,  which  in  turn 
passed  away,  and  a  golden,  transparent  light  enslirouded  the 
earth.  In  that  light  it  seemed  the  countless  multitudes  of  earth 
might  travel  on  in  peace  and  harmony  forever. 

A  tour  in  Italy  is  a  journey  through  all  periods  of  history.  It 
is  hard  to  write  of  it  save  in  a  historical  sense,  for  at  every  turn 
one  is  confronted  with  something  that  dates  back  into  the  past, 
— -  that  is,  if  it  be  worth  the  telling.  Rome  gathered  from  the 
whole  world  that  which  was  most  useful  to  her.  Religion  and 
art  ornamentation  she  stole  from  Greece,  her  women  from  the 
Sabines,  her  swords  from  Spain,  from  the  far  East  her  arches  and 
obelisks.  Etruria  furnished  the  bows.  Her  slaves  builded,  and 
her  ruins  now  interest  us. 

There  is  ever  something  in  the  past.  The  knowledge  is  worth 
acquiring  and  enjoyable  in  the  finding.  This  is  of  interest  to 
one  who  lives  any  length  of  time  in  Rome  —  yet  prosaic,  per- 
haps, to  those  who  have  not  been  here. 

So  I  leave  it  for  another  prowl  over  the  Campagna,  which 
stretches  in  undulating  slopes  to  the  olive-crowned  heights  of 
Tivoli.  There  is  wondrous  harmony  in  shades  of  green  and 
bronze  of  the  short,  crisp  foliage.  Those  writers  who  call  it 
desolate  and  a  "  veritalde  desert "  have  not  known  our  Amer- 
ican deserts.  There  are  but  few  straggling  houses  along  the 
car  line,    which  is  run  by    electricity,    as    are    all  the    lines  in 


Italy.  137 

Rome.  Tivoli  furnished  the  longest-distance  power  known  until 
Sacramento  distanced  her  l)y  a  couple  of  miles,  when  the  power 
was  brought  from  Folsom.  There  are  no  farm-houses  to  ))e 
seen,  for,  though  the  soil  is  rich,  it  is  extremel}'  hot  and 
unhealthy  in  summer.  I  see.  in  lieu  of  houses,  wigwam-sha])ed 
affairs.  Innlt  of  reeds,  thatched  with  brush  and  straw,  looking 
like  the  Indian  wickiups  along  the  Carson  River,  in  which  the 
peasants  live  and  care  for  the  herds  that  are  now  feeding  on 
rich  pasturage. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Campagna  is  unhealthful  during 
the  hot  months,  l)ut  as  soon  as  the  cool  autumn  breezes  tem- 
per the  heat,  the  people  come  from  the  hills,  till  the  soil,  sow 
grain,  and  reap  the  harvests  before  the  hot  days  come  again. 

The  stacks  of  hay  and  fat.  sleek  herds  do  not  V^espeak  desert 
life.  It  is  more  beautiful  than  any  uninhabited  region  I  know 
of — a  plain  prosy  enough,  if  one  looks  at  it  as  any  other  level 
bit  of  land  —  as  one  might  our  immense  valleys  by  the  sun- 
down seas.  But  the  setting,  the  environments,  make  it  a  sea 
of  dreams. 

Here,  again,  history  forces  itself  on  one.  where  every  rod  is 
historical  —  rimmed  in  l>y  the  Sabine  and  Alban  mountains, 
old  tombs,  and  always  the  l)roken  lines  of  the  great  high  arches 
of  aqueducts.  For  it  was  from  Tivoli's  slopes  the  first  water 
was  carried  into  Rome. 

There  are  c^uiet  valleys  near  the  hills  where  are  great  tufa 
caves  leading  into  subterranean  galleries.  Many  of  these  caves 
are  used  as  habitations  by  the  poor,  who  eke  out  a  scanty 
existence. 

Here  are  swift  streams,  overhung  by  drooping  reeds  and 
willows,  broken  arches  of  antique  bridges,  showing  sun-looped 
shadows  of  ivy-crowned  openings,  through  w^alls  rent  by  cen- 
turies. Here  are  wondrous  deeps  of  violet-hued  distances,  and 
then,  through  a  sort  of  gray  mist,  the  road  winds  among  inter- 
minable forests  of  gnarled,  twisted,  fantastic  groves  of  olives, 
resembling  the  trees  of  our  knowledge  only  in  the  peculiar 
grayish  green. 

We  go  through  Tivoli.  the  old  city,  l)arnacled  like  last  year's 
swallows'  nests,  to  the  side  of  the  hills;  go  down  into  the  rainbow- 
tinted  gorge,  tilled  with  foaming  waterfalls  and  cataracts;   ihen 


138  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

into  the  Syl)irs  Temple,  and  listen  in  vain  for  a  voice —  surren- 
dering ourselves  to  the  mystic,  pathetic  charm  of  the  silent  old 
place.  The  stillness  is  broken  by  the  soft  cadence  of  the  falls  of 
the  Anio  River.  A  fiock  of  doves  circle  above.  But  no  voice 
tells  of  what  the  future  may  have  in  store.  We  go  away,  as  wise 
perhaps  as  those  who  listened  to  the  prophecies  of  old  —  through 
the  miles  of  olive  trees  centuries  old. 

We  arrive  at  Hadrian's  villa.  This,  his  country  house,  was  so 
large  that  for  years  after  found  and  excavated,  it  was  thought  to 
be  a  village,  it  and  the  grounds  occupying  several  square  miles. 
This  marvel  of  architecture  and  landscape-gardening  dates  back 
to  138  A.D.  After  the  death  of  the  art-loving  and  far-traveled 
Emperor,  it  was  unused  until  the  invasion  of  the  Goths,  when 
Alaric  utilized  it  for  a  fortress,  some  six  hundred  years  after 
Hadrian  had  occupied  his  tomb,  now  called  Castle  St.  Angelo. 
All  the  centuries  following,  it  has  proved  a  valuable  mine,  fur- 
nishing materials  for  palaces  and  churches,  as  well  as  works  of 
art,  many  of  the  most  beautiful  being  in  the  Vatican. 

Not  far  and  up  on  the  hills  to  the  east  are  traces  of  the  villas 
of  Cassius  and  Brutus,  and  farther  down  toward  Rome  is  where 
Palmyra's  Queen  Zenobia  lived.  There  is  always  something  of 
interest,  and  wherever  we  go  it  is  the  same  story.  The  dead  seem 
to  be  of  more  consequence  than  the  living.  In  fact,  life  appears 
so  trivial  that  these  monstrous  walls  and  ruins  seem  to  look  pity- 
ingly down  upon  so  slight  a  thing.  Slight  as  it  is,  we  risk  none 
too  much  in  the  damp  corridors,  for  the  mosaics  hidden  all  these 
centuries  are  most  beautiful,  and  the  remnants  of  treasures  are 
lovely  beyond  the  imagination. . 

We  were  driven  to  the  car  line,  which  follows  the  identical 
ancient  Via  Tiburtina,  and  go  back,  while  the  rose  of  sunset 
lingers  on  the  snowy  covering  of  the  Sabines,  and  tinges  the  far- 
away Apennines,  and  then  it  is  gone. 

The  scene  changes.  The  night  is  chill.  The  city  lies  a  color- 
less picture.  Bereft  of  the  sun,  it  is  an  etching  framed  in  blue- 
gray  hills.  A  background  of  white  misty  clouds  is  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  far  up,  seemingly  floating  in  the  sky,  is  one  of  those 
pines  —  "  islands  in  the  sky,"  some  one  called  them  —  only  one  on 
the  crest  of  a  hill.  But  it  is  real.  It  represents  life  and  strength, 
and  there  is  comfort  in  the  thought. 


Italy.  139 

It  i8  l)etter  not  to  think  too  much  or  feel  too  mucli.  The  life 
and  light  of  the  city  were  pleasant  and  cheerful.  It  seemed  good 
to  be  alive  and  have  a  fine  appetite  for  dinner.  And  by  my  own 
little  wood  fire  I  musetl,  thinking  after  all  that  there  is  nothing 
but  ashes,  and  that  the  ashes  of  those  mighty  rulers  of  whom  we 
study  and  ponder  weigh  no  more  in  the  balance  of  the  universe 
than  do  the  nameless  unknown  who  perished,  but  count  for  as 
much  now  in  the  gravitation  of  the  glol)e  as  of  earth's  greatest. 

Ashes,  aslies!  And  the  tiny  brushwood  branches  they  call  fire- 
wood here  burn  and  fall  apart,  the  embers  die  out,  nothing  but 
ashes  after  all. 

Hadrian's  palaces  are  in  ruins.  His  sarcophagus  —  that  was 
to  be  imperishable  —  two  thousand  men  toiling  fully  three  years, 
it  is  estimated,  to  bring  it  from  the  far-off  African  deserts,  and 
polish  and  prepare  the  red  porphyry  for  his  remains  —  is  gone. 
And  it  seems  odd  that  the  lid  of  his  sarcophagus,  after  svirmount- 
ing  another  emperor's  tomb,  should  eventually  be  transferred  to 
St.  Peter's,  and  now  used  for  a  baptismal  font. 

It  is  good  to  get  away  from  the  old  and  revel  in  the  new,  the 
up-to-date  reading-rooms  and  libraries,  to  go  to  the  tourist  offices 
and  make  life  a  burden  to  the  indolent  clerks  by  asking  daily  for 
mail,  and  inquiring  about  the  plague  in  Egypt.  We  are  as  soli- 
citous as  a  physician  over  a  pauper  patient  who  won't  die,  yet 
must  be  looked  after.  The  sellers  of  tickets  to  Cairo  and  up  the 
Nile  are  wary.  They  are  anxious  to  have  people  go,  yet  dare 
not  say  the  quarantine  is  off.  And  I  am  anxious  to  start,  but 
fear  to  do  so  at  present. 

It  is  irritating  to  see  in  the  shop  windows  cards  with  great 
letters  saying,  "  Christmas  presents."  What  have  we  to  do  with 
all  these  things  —  strangers  and  wanderers  —  and  our  own  duty- 
loving  revenue  officials  on  the  other  rim  of  the  Atlantic  keeping 
us  from  sending  anything  worth  while  home?  Fortunately,  words 
are  free  and  thought  unchained,  so  I  can  enjoy  much  in  thoughts 
of  all  that  might  be,  if  nothing  else. 

In  a  great  many  shop  windows  are  black  veils,  labeled  "  To 
Visit  the  Holy  Father."  But  the  Pope  is  aged  and  weak.  They 
ate  guarding  him  carefully  for  the  Christmas  week,  when  he  is 
to  open  the  Porta  Santa,  or  holy  door,  which  has  been  closed  for 
seventv-five  vears. 


140  A  ^^'oMAN^s  Wanderings. 

This  is  the  Jubilee  Year,  and  there  are  now  100,000  applica- 
tions for  admission  to  St.  Peter's  on  that  day.  Though  so  many 
applications  have  ])een  made,  there  is  not  the  crowd  in  the  city 
expected  to  be  here.  Italy  depends  so  much  on  the  tourist  sea- 
son that  a  wail  goes  up  from  those  who  are  benefited  thereby. 
The  hotels  are  not  nearly  filled,  shops  are  not  crowded,  Roman 
pearl-sellers  display  the  white  strings  and  red  corals  to  great 
advantage,  but  find  few  purchasers. 

They  ask  double  here  for  an}"  article  of  a  stranger.  Those  who 
live  here,  and  know,  can  buy  things  very  reasona])le.  The  ''  fixe  I 
prices  "  mean  nothing.  Anything  having  a  money  value  here  is 
subject  to  change.  Mone}^  is  variable  as  the  weather,  and  we  ar3 
quite  industrious  in  finding  the  market  value.  High  and  low 
means  for  us  how  much  we  can  get  for  an  English  ixnuid,  or 
five  dollars  in  our  money. 

We  have  had  a  great  many  rainy  days,  l)ut  there  always 
are  some  places  to  go  where  one  can  pass  the  time.  There 
are  so  many  churches  that  the  oft-told  story  of  four  hundred 
may  be  correct.  There  are  a  score  or  two  out  of  the  number 
worth  visiting.  Their  gorgeousness,  the  splendor  of  mosaics 
and  marbles,  make  them  good  show  jdaces,  Imt  somehow  chill 
the  warmth  one  desires  to  feel  in  a  church.  They  produce  a 
feeling  more  of  wonder  than  devotion. 

Especially  so  is  that  feeling  of  wonder  uppermost  in  visit- 
ing St.  Paul's,  the  great,  beautiful,  show}'  church  beyond  the 
walls.  The  altars  of  malachite,  the  quadruple  rows  of  immense 
columns,  the  exquisite  floors  and  w^alls  in  various  precious  stones 
and  pictures  in  mosaics  are  wonderful  indeed.  But  it  is  nothing 
after  all  but  a  show  place. 

No  seats  are  visible,  no  chairs,  as  are  found  in  most  otlier 
churches.  In  only  one  church  have  I  found  pews  —  this  refers,  of 
course,  to  the  Catholic  churches.  In  these  smaller  edifices 
chairs  and  l)enches  are  used  during  service,  and  always  taken 
away  afterwards.  So  the  floors  are  easily  cleaned.  And  it  is 
well;  for  if  they  have  sanitary  rules  or  ordinances  regarding 
expectorating  and  other  ills,  they  are  not  observed.  Churches 
are  not  exempt  any  more  than  street-cars.  Omnibuses  and  all 
public  conveyances  fare  as  do  the  sidewalks,  wherever  there 
are  anv. 


Italy.  141 

But  the  <;litter  android  of  the  altars,  the  ean.Ues,  sculpture, 
paintings,  domes,  columns,  pillars  surmounted  and  upheld  by 
angels,  the  suffering  Christ  everywhere,  as  is  the  Virgin  and 
Holy  Child  — are  fascinating  to  the  eye,  and  many,  who  know 
only  care  and  toil,  go;  and  it  is  like  another  world  to  them. 
They  feel  and  believe  it  is  something  different.  And  so,  if  it 
brings  comfort,  a  little  lightening  of  the  heavy  burdens,  a 
drifting  into  the  shadow  of  Paradise,  it  is  good. 

We  have  been  in  several  churches  on  certain  days  when  special 
service  was  held.  I  recall  vespers  in  St.  John  Lateran,  and  an 
evening  in  the  Jesuit  Church,  where  the  masses  gathered,  and 
the  long  hne,  bearing  candles,  banners,  and  swinging  censers, 
showed  priestly  groups,  their  gold,  crimson  and  purple  robes 
flaming  back  an  answering  glow  through  the  incense-misted  air. 
Then  came  the  music.  There  were  no  discords,  no  jarring  notes, 
a  soft,  sweet  contralto,  then  high,  pure,  clear  soprano  voices  min- 
gled with  tenor,  bass,  and  baritone.  As  no  woman's  voice  is  ever 
heard  in  these  churches,  it  is  almost  beyond  belief  how  it  is  done, 
or  how  they  are  trained.  I  know  not,  yet  I  have  never  heard 
more  perfect  melody.  The  great  organ  pealed  and  throbbed, 
and  there  were  no  lost  chords  there.  The  soul  of  the  music 
was  a  living  sound,  uplifting  and  carrying  one  on  its  mighty 
waves,  sweeping  on  and  on  past  all  perplexing  and  ragged  edges 
of  hfe  and  its  cares,  toward  some  great  central  soul — strains  sad, 
tremulous  — then  the  triumphant  notes  of  the  hallelujah  — a 
motif  that  seemed  to  die  away,  then  reappearing,  harmoniously 
and  exquisitely  sweet  as  though  spirits  in  that  great  vaulted 
dome  had  returned  and  were  singing  praises  to  the  Most  High. 
There  was  a  mournful  wail,  an  undertone  that  threaded  the 
melody,  a  remembrance  of  the  loved  of  earth,  l)ewailing  their 
absence.  The  choir  stationed  aloft  was  invisible  in  the  dusky 
light  and  the  sounds  that  swept  those  vast  arches  were  the 
wailing  notes  of  the  "  Miserere,"  yet  unlike  any  that  I  had  ever 
heard. 

And  strangely  enough  my  mind  went  to  a  spot  seen  a  few  days 
before  —  the  Protestant  Cemetery  and  the  quiet  graves  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius,  the  old  pagan  toml)  that 
stands  guard  over  the  graves  of  Shelley  and  Keats.  Some  notes 
of  the  music  were  like  the  soft  breeze  sighing  through  the  cypress 


142 


A  Woman's  Wanderings. 


trees,  and  through  rents  in  the  ohl  walls.  The  sorrowful,  tremu- 
lous notes  were  to  me  an  echo  of  the  hurdened  life  of  Keats, 
whose  last  breath,  a  sorrowful  wail,  wished  inscribed  on  his 
toml):  "Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water." 


PR0TE8TAXT   CEMETERY    AXD    PYRAMID    OF   CAIUS    CESTIUS,    ROME. 


Life's  bitterness  and  woes  seemed  as  nothing  with  the  last 
grand  peal;  for  in  the  flood  of  harmony  all  the  heartaches  of  the 
countless  multitudes  of  the  whole  world  had  gone  heavenward. 
As  Ave  left  the  church,  a  voice  in  our  own  language  said.  "  Bless 
A^ou,  my  children."  One  of  the  fathers  we  had  chanced  to  meet, 
who  knew  our  western  state,  recognized  us.  Amid  all  that  throng 
of  strangers,  amid  strange  tongues,  it  was  sweet  and  comforting 
to  feel  that  some  one  cared  enough  to  l)estow  a  thought  and  a 
blessing. 

We  have  visited  the  places  we  liked  ])est  again  and  again,  es- 
pecially the  Vatican,  wherein  is  stored  so  much  that  is  interest- 
ing -—  the  best,  and  some  very  mediocre.  We  know  the  whole 
world  contril)uted  to  the  galleries  and  to  8t.  Peter's,  and  the 
magnificence  is  unciuestioned.  I  suppose  every  one  has  some 
special  fancy  in  the  vast  rooms,  amid  the  sculpture  or  the  paint- 
ings. Everyliody  sees,  of  course,  the  "  Apollo  Belvidere,"  the 
"Laocoijn,"  "  AntiniJus,"  and  a  few  others,  and  go  away  and 
think  that  is  all  worth  seeing.     It  is  excusable,  perhaps,  for  those 


Italy.  143 

who  spend  a  week  in  Rome.  Yet  who  eould  know  or  uiidcistand 
without  study  or  research? 

St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican  have  l)een  so  talked  aliout  and 
written  of  that  I  have  avoided  any  description  thus  far.  The  won- 
derful, mysterious  old  church!  In  entering,  the  heavy  leathern 
curtain  is  so  weighty  that  one  has  scarcely  the  strength  to  push 
it  aside.  We  give  a  glance  toward  the  far  end,  stretching  dim, 
huge,  and  gray  into  interminahle  perspective,  with  marbles, 
bronze  columns,  and  vast  arches  glittering  in  gold  and  bright 
colors.  One  knows  how  futile  the  task,  how  empty  description  is, 
to  convey  the  slightest  idea  to  those  who  have  not  seen. 

A  strange  feeling  possessed  me,  and  yet  St.  Peter's  was  not  new, 
but  a  pleasant  and  delightful  recalling  of  what  has  so  long  lin- 
gered in  memory.  The  great,  high  altar  is  unchanged,  and  the 
lights  burn  forever  around  the  Apostles'  shrine.  The  mighty 
dome  rises  above  it.  The  enormous  pillars  and  magnificent 
statues  in  mysterious  niches  seem  to  answer  back  the  softest 
whispered  word  from  one  to  another  across  the  silent  aisles.  All 
is  unchanged.  The  singing  from  some  of  the  chapels  comes 
soothing  and  restful,  as  if  that,  too,  is  an  echo  of  the  past — soft, 
with  a  ring  of  Heaven  in  it.  It  is  not  the  music  of  the  present 
day  —  not  suitable  for  the  stage  or  satisfying  to  the  Wagnerian 
craze  — but  music  for  moonlight,  or  some  lonely,  echoing  street, 
—  full  of  strange  fatefulness,  enchanting,  charming,  in  perfect 
accord,  and  belonging  to  the  time  and  place. 

We  went  often  to  the  Vatican,  whiling  away  hours  among  the 
sculpture  and  the  picture  galleries.  Here  are  Raphael's  ''  Trans- 
figuration "  and  his  "  Loggia,"  wherein  is  much  of  his  best  work. 
The  Sistine  Chapel  shows  the  bent  of  Michael  Angelo's  mind. 
His  figures  seem  to  struggle,  to  suffer.  They  express  the  inten- 
sity of  power,  of  sorrow,  for  he  depicted  as  he  felt.  He  preferred 
sculpture,  but  was  forced  to  paint  this  old  chapel,  now  black- 
ened by  the  smoke  that  has  gone  up  in  that  room  since  the 
fifteenth  century.  It  needs  a  careful  survey  to  appreciate  the 
labor  and  the  struggles  that  called  to  earth  once  again  the  heroes 
of  past  ages.  Here  are  scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ,  and  the  crea- 
tion of  the  world.  His  later  and  best,  the  "Last  Judgment," 
cannot  be  forgotten,  once  seen,  but  remains  fixed  in  the  mind  like 
something  in  a  landscape;  a  gnarled  old  tree;  an  isolated  peak; 


144  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

a  melody  that  is  not  forgotten;  a  line  of  poetry  that  is  sweet  with 
the  sweetness  of  life;  a  memory  with  the  bitterness  of  death. 
For  this  man  wrought  so  well  in  his  loneliness  and  bitterness, 
that  as  long  as  color,  form,  and  conception  are  left  in  that  chapel 
he  will  stand  peerless  as  that  one  Titan  of  art,  who  only  was  ca- 
pable of  the  "  Last  Judgment." 

I  shall  not  speak  further  of  St.  Peter's  except  to  describe 
the  ceremonies  I  saw  on  Christmas  eve,  when  the  holy  year 
of  1900  began,  by  the  opening  of  the  sacred  door  by  Pope  Leo 
XIII.  Our  party  were  in  some  fonunate  way  favored,  for  we 
had  i)laces  among  the  mightv.  and  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
seat  where  the  Pope  sat,  or  reclined  rather,  after  being  brought 
in  on  the  shoulders  of  the  men  who  carried  him  in  a  chair, 
with  a  silken  canopy  over  his  head.  There  were  seats  for  ladies 
and  standing-room  for  men,  prepared  in  the  j^ortico  of  St. 
Peter's,  only  about  eight  hundred  being  admitted.  There  were 
something  near  one  hundred  thousand  applications  for  seats, 
so  we  felt  ourselves  very  fortunate  indeed.  The  men  were  all 
in  full  dress,  ladies  in  black,  with  lace  veils.  Ambassadors, 
princes,  the  nobles  who  have  stood  by  the  church,  cardinals 
and  bishops  were  there.  I  despair  of  description.  It  was  all 
far  more  gorgeous  than  any  royal  procession  I  have  ever  seen. 
It  was  like  some  grand  transformation  scene  on  a  stage  where 
scenic  effect  is  sought  after.  All  of  the  Pope's  court,  ambassa- 
dors, etc.,  were  gorgeous  in  orders,  decorations,  jewels,  and  bright 
colors  —  scarlet,  purple,  gold,  and  crimson  —  in  strong  contrast 
to  the  black-veiled  women  who  sat  in  the  seats  and  boxes. 

We  had  gone  early,  leaving  our  hotel  at  nine  o'clock,  wish- 
ing to  secure  good  seats.  We  found  the  S([uare  in  front  of  St. 
Peter's  filled  with  ranks  of  soldiers,  by  order  of  the  King,  but 
against  the  wishes  of  the  Pope,  who  prefers  that  this,  his  own 
dominion,  be  left  to  his  control.  The  government,  desirous 
of  peace,  and  knowing  the  people,  look  out  that  no  trouble 
ensues,  and  is  wise,  doubtless,  for  it  kept  the  solid  ranks  busy 
to  hold  the  crowd  back.  Our  tickets  admitted  us  without 
question,  for  the  color  proclaimed  we  were  of  the  elect.  Early 
as  we  were,  we  found  the  seats  filled,  except  a  few  in  front. 
Again  we  were  fortunate,  for  those  who  had  preceded  us  were 
put  in  the  rear  seats,  so  we  had  the  very  best  after  all. 


Italy.  145 

The  crowd  waited  patiently  for  nearly  three  hours,  and  then 
the  sound  from  silver  trumpets  eame  faint  and  clear  through 
the  dim  distance,  and  the  high,  gold-fringed  canopy  appeared 
coming  from  the  Sistine  Chapel.  There  was  but  little  thought 
for  the  gorgeous  array  that  preceded  him.  All  interest  was 
centered  in  the  white-faced  old  man,  so  near  the  boundary 
where  pomp  and  glory,  as  well  as  human  care,  shall  be  dropped 
and  eternal  rest  be  his  reward. 

Near  the  close  of  the  century  —  here,  in  Rome,  amid  her  ruins 
—  in  the  dim  old  church,  decorated  as  he,  in  all  the  glitter  of 
gold,  silver,  and  precious  stones  —  the  white-seamed  face  that  for 
ninety  years  has  looked  upon  the  sun  and  the  stars,  was  in  har- 
mony with  the  surroundings.  A  young  and  jjowerful  man,  a 
bronzed  face,  would  have  spoiled  the  picture.  It  was  exquisitely 
artistic.  Such  a  scene  could  be  witnessed  but  once  in  a  lifetime. 
There  was  the  long  procession  in  gorgeous  robes  —  then  the  Pope, 
clothed  in  white,  and  wearing  the  pontifical  ornaments,  came  into 
the  portico  surrounded  by  the  Sacred  College  of  Cardinals  and 
Court,  heralded  by  trumpets,  with  the  great  canopy  and  gorgeous 
flabella  waving  behind  him.  The  crowd  here  Avas  silent  and  re- 
spectful. 

But  a  short  time  only  was  given  for  prayers.  Then  the  Pope 
took  the  golden  hammer,  and,  approaching  the  Sacred  Door, 
knocked  three  times,  repeating  some  verses,  to  each  of  which  the 
choir  responded.  Then  followed  similar  ceremonies,  after  which 
the  Pope  intoned  the  Te  Deum,  the  door  was  opened,  and  he 
headed  the  procession  into  St.  Peter's,  through  the  Sacred  Door  — 
the  first  time  this  hns  been  opened  for  seventy-five  years. 

Although  the  crowd  was  great,  there  was  nothing  like  what 
was  expected.  There  were  no  thrilling  scenes  such  as  writers 
have  depicted.  There  w^as  no  frantic  tearing  of  raiment,  or 
throwing  jewels  and  money  as  offerings.  True,  when  the  doors 
were  thrown  open  after  the  Pope  had  entered,  there  was  a  wild 
rush  by  the  people  who  had  cards  to  the  church  only;  and  it 
was  quickly  filled  by  a  crowd  who  were  not  easily  pacified  or 
controlled.  They  were  noisy  and  struggled  for  places  to  see. 
The  Pope's  private  guard  kept  them  back  from  the  line  fenced 
off  for  the  procession. 

The  benediction  from  the  marble  statues  of  the  Popes,  standing 


146  A  Woman's  Wani)Erin(;s. 

high  in  niches,  came  from  hands  no  whiter  than  he  held  up  to 
bless  the  multitude  —  the  treml)ling  hand  extending  as  though 
appealing  to  the  century  approaching  and  giving  a  benediction  to 
the  one  so  nearly  ended.  The  white  angels  far  up  in  the  dome 
looked  down  from  on  high.  They  seemed  vilirating  with  strength 
and  vitality,  ])ut  it  was  only  the  moving,  wavering,  incense-filled 
air.  Banners  floated,  and  the  great  altar  glowed.  Then  came 
the  benediction,  for  which  the  people  waited,  and  it  was  over. 
A  shout  went  up  for  the  Pope  as  they  carried  him  away  —  a 
vision  of  the  venerable  face,  white  as  the  robes  he  wore  —  and 
then  the  crowd  rushed  from  the  church  with  the  haste  usually 
seen  at  theaters. 

A  few  tried  to  cheer  the  King,  Vait  were  silenced.  It  was  some- 
thing I  did  not  hear  when  there  was  a  fine  opportunity  in  the 
streets  when  the  King  was  passing.  There  was  none  of  the 
royal  family  present  at  the  opening  of  the  Porta  Santa. 

All  the  other  ceremonies  were  of  small  import  to  us  after  this. 
We  enjoyed  a  quiet  Christmas,  had  our  own  little  tree  and  gifts, 
with  a  blessing  on  the  cable  that  l)rought  "  Merry  Christmas,  and 
all  well,"  from  home. 

Now  I  am  ready  for  Naples.  My  companion  so  far  on  the 
tour  has  decided  not  to  take  the  long  journe3'  I  have  planned,  but 
plague  and  quarantine  and  necessary  hardships  frighten  me  not. 
I  am  in  the  cars  and  out  of  the  Roman  station  through  the  Servian 
and  Aurelian  walls  —  the  old  walls  that  Hanni]>al,  traveling  from 
far  Africa,  came  to  see,  but  turned  away  disheartened.  Not  so 
with  me;  cheerfully  I  go  trusting  that  when  the  spring  comes,  I, 
too,  will  live  to  see  those  tumble-down  picturesque  heaps  again. 

There  are  glimpses  of  other  broken  arches  and  old  villas,  and 
as  we  go  on  farther.  At  the  Campagna,  we  cross  the  Albano 
and  Frascati  roads  leading  to  the  Alban  Hills  —  passing  the 
drained  lake  where  Castor  and  Pollux  fought  for  Rome  —  fly 
under  an  ancient  city  high  up  above  the  road,  from  which  the 
princely  house  of  Colonna  derives  its  name. 

I  remember  it  more  for  the  caves  at  the  base  of  the  hills  upon 
which  the  old  tottering  towers  stand — for  in  these  miseral)le 
holes  in  the  rock  dwell  the  poor.  The  country  was  sodden  and 
overflowed  liy  rains.  There  seemed  no  attempt  at  flooring,  or 
comfort,  for  that  matter.     Some  of  the  people  we  could  see  well, 


Italy 


147 


and  the  mud  and  water  were  thiek  when-  thev  lived.  Men, 
women,  and  ehildren,  ehickens,  donkeys,  and  goats,  were  liuddled 
together  in  these  eaves.  These  people  work  in  the  field,  pruning 
the  vines  and  preparing  the  soil  when  dry  enough  for  spading. 
There  is  but  Httle  effort  at  plowini:,  most  of  the  patches  1)eing  too 
small. 

Near  Naples  the  country  changes,  the  soil  Ix'ing  rich  and 
fertile.  The  air  is  soft  and  balmy,  so  different  to  the  chilly 
winds  in  Rome.  The  vines  crossed  and  recrossed  are  a  per- 
fect   network   lietween    the    trees.      All    grape-vines  are    staked 


or  so  trained  here,  because  it  is  too  damp  for  grapes  near  the 
ground.  Then  a  sudden  turn,  and  before  us  is  Vesuvius  send- 
ing up  a  column  of  smoke. 

A  mixture  of  houses,  streets,  green  gardens,  flowers,  a  glimpse 
of  the  Mediterranean,  and  we  are  in  Naples.  The  few  days 
spent  here  have  been  glorious.  Much  as  I  enjoyed  Rome,  this 
has  been  a  delightful  change.  There  everything  is  old.  The 
people  are  quiet  and  dull,  one  might  say.  The  Neapolitan 
life  is  different.  They  are  erratic,  fickle,  and  vicious  too,  at 
times  —  these  degenerate  Greeks,  living  under  the  smoke  of  Vesu- 


148  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

vius.  They  sing  and  laugh  while  the  old  mountain  threatens, 
and  live  without  dread,  Iniilding  up  high  on  the  sides  of  the 
volcano  that  l)uried  Herculaneuni  and  Pompeii. 

The  people  are  temperate  here,  as  in  all  Italy,  for  that 
matter.  A  bit  of  bread,  fruit,  or  some  shell  fish  from  the  bay 
forms  the  chief  })art  of  their  food,  when  they  tire  of  the  omni- 
present macaroni.  They  need  few  clothes  in  this  balmy  atmos- 
phere. The  life-giving  sun  warms  and  bronzes  them.  How- 
ever poor  they  are,  they  do  not  seem  unhappy.  It  is  different 
to  the  poor  in  other  cities,  for  here  they  have  the  beautiful 
country  around  them  —  the  Apennines  and  Vesuvius,  the  glo- 
rious bay  whose  celestial  waters  sing  to  them  while  they  draw 
the  finny  food  from  its  shining  bosom. 

Our  hotel  is  on  the  rim  of  the  bay.  Our  rooms  almost 
over  the  water  command  a  view  of  Capri  and  Vesuvius.  There 
are  other  isles  in  the  distance,  showing  their  heads  among  the 
fleecy  clouds  of  the  divine  Mediterranean.  At  night,  when  we 
dine,  musicians  stand  under  the  windows  and  sing  for  us. 
They  are  poetical  and  musical,  without  culture,  but  they  impro- 
vise verses,  sentiments  of  passion,  eloquent,  and  spontaneous 
as  the  flowers  that  spring  up  like  magic — for  they  are  like 
the  flowers,  born  of  eternal  spring.  Their  senses  are  not  dulled 
or  w^asted  in  this  life  of  emotions.  So  we  hear  them  in  the 
evenings. 

So  I  heard  them  at  Capri  when  we  visited  that  enchanted 
isle.  While  we  were  driving  up  the  summit  of  Monte  Solaro, 
the  melody  of  the  songs  of  the  c^uaintly  clad  fishermen  came 
up  in  the  breezes  which  rippled  the  sea,  touched  the  fronded 
palms,  and  brought  with  the  soft  cadence  a  breath  from  the 
gardens  and  orange  groves. 

I  avoided  all  ruins  on  that  particular  day.  Tiberius  and  his 
villas  tempted  us  not.  Neither  did  the  Grotto  of  the  Persian  sun- 
god.  For  was  there  not  a  glorious  sun  overhead  that  no  sun- 
worshiper  ever  adored  more  than  I?  We  drove  down  from  Ana- 
capri,  upon  whose  heights  the  violets  bloom  and  rose-scented  ter- 
races are  warm  and  fragrant  on  the  sunny  slopes,  while  farther 
up  the  trees  are  all  aslant  and  swept  with  the  winds.  Below  us 
the  sea  was  ruffled  by  the  breeze  and  variegated  by  the  changing 
light  into  emerald  and  sapphire  blues.     There  were  transparent 


Itai.v.  141) 

waves  and  glorious  reflections  of  U)vely  shores.  The  l()(|Uat.  the 
palm  and  pine,  exhaled  a  delicious  aroma,  and  every  movement 
of  the  fragrant  air  was  like  a  low  sigh  of  love. 

We  went  in  small  ])oats  to  the  Blue  Grotto,  of  which  the  world 
has  heard.  The  entrance  being  only  three  feet  high,  it  is  difficult 
to  go  in,  even  when  the  sea  is  smooth.  When  rough  or  ruffled,  it 
is  not  possil)le  for  the  small  boats  to  enter.  The  steamer  an- 
chored near,  and,  two  by  two,  as  they  went  into  the  ark,  we  were 
allowed  to  get  in  the  boats.  Not  caring  for  company,  I  iiad  a 
boat  of  my  own.  We  got  near  the  aperture,  and  as  the  swell 
receded  the  lioat  was  forced  in,  the  boatman  clinging  to  a  wire 
cable  while  the  incoming  wave  shoved  the  boat  through.  Eacli 
of  us  was  told  to  slide  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  so  our 
heads  would  lie  below  the  sides  of  the  boat.  It  was  necessary, 
for  the  row-locks  of  my  boat  touched  the  top  of  the  opening.  But 
we  were  in  like  a  flash,  and  then,  through  a  blurred  and  dim 
vision,  as  b}'  a  sudden  change  from  glaring  sunshine  into  a  milky- 
blue  mist,  blinding  for  a  moment  —  the  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  wonderful  interior.  High  overhead  were  the  ragged,  gray, 
arching  walls  and  roof.  The  silvery  blue  waters  were  calm  and 
quiet  inside.  I  cannot  describe  it.  It  is  marvelous,  wonderful, 
and  well  deserving  all  I  have  ever  heard  or  read  of  it.  Peaceful, 
calm,  restful,  away  from  the  stormy  seas,  yet  a  part  of  it,  it 
seems  to  say,  "  After  labor,  rest  and  peace."  One  has  a  peculiar 
feeling  there,  a  sadness,  as  when  looking  at  some  boat  fading  from 
the  vision,  or  the  last  glimpse  of  the  setting  sun. 

We  returned  by  way  of  Sorrento,  which  is  picturesquely  situ- 
ated high  up  on  cliffs  above  the  sea.  We  drove  from  there  to 
Castellamare  over  one  of  the  most  noted  drives  in  Europe.  The 
road  is  amidst  groves  of  orange  and  lemon  trees.  The  midberry 
trees  and  vineyards  are  leafless  now,  as  are  the  fig  trees.  The 
olives  are  silvery  green,  as  they  ever  are.  There  are  aloes  and 
pomegranates  at  every  turn.  Whether  looking  seaward  or  tow- 
ard the  hills,  the  scenery  is  matchless. 

I  saw  here  the  house  where  Tasso  was  born,  now  a  hotel.  His 
favorite  view  was  shown  me  —  all,  doubtless,  as  he  saw  it. 
"  Nature  alone  has  eternal  youth,"  and  what  l)etter  place  than 
this  to  fire  a  poet's  fancy?  The  In-oken,  ragged  shore,  the  beauti- 
ful, ever-changing  sea;  the  unrivaled  bay;  the  changing,  varying 


150  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

clouds  in  tlic  sky.  with  tlie  smoke-crowned  Vesuvius  —  possess 
a  charm  indescril)able.  There  are  such  richness  of  tones,  of 
colors,  such  .gradations  from  the  clear  azure  of  the  bay  to  the 
violet  and  dee])  amethyst  of  the  sky  and  sea  welded  on  the  hori- 
zon's verge.  The  hills  are  rosy-tinted  as  we  reach  the  city,  the 
promontories  are  of  burnished  jasper,  while  the  seamed  and 
cracked  sides  of  the  old  volcano  are  black  and  shining  lava. 

Having  made  the  ascent  of  Vesuvius  long  before  a  railroad 
defaced  its  slopes,  I  do  not  intend  to  destroy  the  illusion  by  an- 
other. 

I  revisited  Pompeii  and  found  many  new  excavations.  The 
glamour  and  interest  surrounding  this  city  can  never  die  out. 
The  tragedy  took  place  over  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  when 
the  molten  lava  flowing  down  the  sides  of  Vesuvius  buried  Her- 
culaneum  and  the  showers  of  hot  ashes  and  water  fell  on  this 
doomed  city,  covering  it  in  liquid  mud.  We  walked  through  the 
silent  streets  lined  with  roofless  houses,  saw  the  names  of  those 
who  lived  in  them,  when  terror  and  death  overtook  them,  saw 
houses  with  the  sign  that  signified  they  were  for  rent,  and 
through  all  the  centuries  they  have  so  stood.  There  are  tem- 
ples, theaters,  and  places  for  amusement.  There,  too,  are  the 
darker  aliodes,  where  vice  and  sin  flourished,  the  seeds  of  which 
are  not  burnt  out,  and  oh  !  the  pity  of  it! 

I  noticed  leaden  water-pipes  with  bronze  cocks  cropping  up 
through  scoria?,  throwai  aside  near  the  footpaths.  The  many 
fountains  and  public  baths  show  they  understood  perfectly  the 
means  of  supplying  them  with  water.  The  telephone  was 
imitated  in  a  way,  for  in  order  that  the  voice  might  reach  every 
part  of  the  house,  little  bronze  cups  were  suspended  at  intervals 
under  the  seats.  The  few  frescoes  left  are  beautiful.  The  best 
found  of  every  variety  of  utensils,  decorations,  food,  in  fact,  all 
the  necessary  articles  used  in  a  city,  have  been  removed  to  the 
Museum  in  Naples,  but  enough  is  left  to  interest  the  tourist. 

We  wandered  one  afternoon  through  this  ruined  city,  until 
night  came  and  the  shadows  became  dense  in  those  sad  streets, 
and  the  vapors  wreathing  the  top  of  the  old  mountain  were 
tinged  with  internal  fires.  It  is  easy  to  repeople  this  town  and 
see  the  lurid  flames  shoot  up,  to  imagine  the  terror,  despair,  and 
dreadful  downpour  that  buried  city  and  people.     Now  we,  among 


Italy 


151 


tlu'  thousands  who  come  here,  look  ui)on  all  that  constituted  life 
in  that  time.  The  evidence  is  here,  the  life  gone.  The  poor, 
distorted  forms  of  men,  women,  and  children,  and  of  animals, 
are  here  in  their  coating  of  ashes,  so  well  preserved  that  the 
agony  of  the  moment  shows  clearly  on  their  faces  and  in  the 
distorted  limbs.  It  is,  without  doulit.  the  most  mournful  and 
pathetic  ruin  in  the  whole  world,  and  as  such  will  ever  be  of 
unfailinu'  interest. 


^IKEET    SCK.NE    IX   POMPEII. 


Away  from  the  saddening,  ghostly  place,  and  in  the  solemn 
hush  of  the  evening,  we  sped  back  to  the  city,  where  it  is  as 
bright,  cheerful,  and  gay  as  they  were  in  their  hour.  We  have 
driven  over  this  beautiful  city  of  Naples  and  up  on  the  heights, 
and  from  Capo  di  Monte  looked  down  upon  the  fair  city  and 
out  over  the  unrivaled  bay.  I  try  to  forget  the  misery  in  the 
streets,  forget  the  garlic-scented  cafc.^  reeking  with  the  fumes 
of  that  everlastingly  detestable  smell  mixed  with  tobacco.  Well, 
it  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  when  death  claims  them  and 
they  leave  their  macaroni,  they  cannot  carry  to  heaven  their 
garlic-laden  breaths  with  them. 


152  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

Baiee  and  Puzzuoli,  the  grotto  of  Posilippo  and  \'irgirs  toml) 
are  interesting.  I  drive  through  this  historic  and  chissic  region, 
see  the  nearly  extinct  crater  of  Solfatara  that  for  twenty  cen- 
turies has  belched  forth  fire  and  steam. 

The  Sibyl's  cave  I  was  not  anxious  to  explore.  Virgil  selected 
this  as  his  avenue  to  the  infernal  regions;  .Eneas  and  the 
Sibyl  here  offered  sacrifices.  Perhaps  their  offerings  were  of 
the  same  nature  as  ours — oysters  from  Lake  Lucrine  were 
offered  us  and  sacrificed  to  hunger's  needs.  They  were  deli- 
cious, as  they  probably  were  in  the  old  Roman  days.  It  may 
be,  however,  that  Virgil  was  unfortunate  and  ate  a  mor])id 
bivalve  and  thought  of  avenues  infernal;  I  had  no  unpleasant 
experiences,  and  no  desire  to  starve  myself,  as  Hadrian  did  in 
the  "brave  days  of  old"  ;  my  motto  savors  not  of  starvation. 

I  thought  of  Nero  here  in  this  fair  spot,  planning  the  death 
of  his  mother,  and  of  Baia?,  which  was  once  so  vile  a  place 
that  it  was  said  that  Neapolitan  ladies  who  grew  weary  of 
leading  virtuous  lives  came  here  and  were  cured  of  the  habit. 
There  is  nothing  now  indicative  of  past  greatness,  good  or 
bad — they  are  all  dead.  We  are  satisfied  with  the  present, 
then  why  waste  any  regrets?  We  are  alive  and  enjoying  our 
day. 

It  seemed  a  different  atmosphere  fanned  my  brow,  when  on 
the  castle-crowned  heights  of  Puzzuoli,  where  St.  Paul  stopped 
some  time  after  he  had  been  shipwrecked  on  his  way  to  Rome.  I 
looked  aM^ay  down  that  wonderful  coast  line  toward  Amalfi,  where 
a  short  time  ago  the  dreadful  landslide  occurred,  burying  the 
hotel — once  known  as  a  Capuchin  monastery  —  with  its  occu- 
pants, under  thousands  of  tons  of  earth  and  stone,  ushering 
them  from  this  earthly  paradise  into  one  more  beautiful,  let  us 
hope. 

And  now,  to-night,  the  last  of  the  year,  I  look  out  on  the  quiet 
sea.  The  old  year  dies  away.  A  new  one  steps  in.  If  there  is 
noise  in  the  town,  it  reaches  me  not  here.  All  is  silent  now,  and 
the  stars  are  bright  in  the  blue  vault  al)ove,  while  the  stars  of 
Memory  and  of  Hope  flash  and  burn  and  the  heart  is  comforted. 
The  vast  expanse  of  water  is  silent.  And  in  the  solemn  moment 
between  the  old  and  the  new  yivir  the  heart  feels  Heaven's  pro- 
tecting arms. 


EGYPT. 

Christmas  in  Egypt !  One  is  not  often  l.lesscd  with  two  within 
one  month.  I  had  spent  our  Christmas  in  Rome,  and  it  was 
rather  puzzling  until  I  realized  the  dift'erenee  hetween  the  old  and 
the  new  "styles  that  is  known  as  the  Gregorian  and  Julian  years. 

From  Naples  to  Brindisi,  thence  across  the  Mediterranean  Sea 
to  Alexandria.  This,  one  of  the  greatest  cities  in  the  world  under 
the  Ptolemies,  is  not  now  remarkal)le,  l)ut  the  domed  mosques 
and  slender  minarets,  the  long  yellow  sands  rimming  the  l)lue 
waters,  the  castellated  forts,  gayly  colored  feluccas  and  lateen 
fishing-boats,  delighted  our  eyes  as  we  landed. 

Then  came  the  drive  through  the  town,  which  has  been  famous. 
Here  the  lovely  Cleopatra  and  adoring  Antony  held  high  revels 
hundreds  of  years  ago.  Here,  too,  lived  and  died  the  ])eautiful 
Hypatia,  and  here  we  saw  Pompey's  Pillar  and  the  Mahmudiyeh 
Canal,  upon  whose  waters  float  the  barges  from  Upi)er  Egypt,  and 
which  brings  the  waters  from  the  Nile  to  irrigate  the  land.  There 
were  such  crowds  in  the  streets  !  This  old,  old  land  was  yet  so 
new  to  us.  It  was  as  if  we  had  been  transported  to  an  unknown 
world  —  it  was  unlike  anything  we  had  ever  seen.  The  noises  in 
the  streets  were  confusing. 

There  was  a  sprinkling  of  Europeans,  but  mostly  Orientals 
with  baggy  trousers  and  braided  jackets.  There  were  barefooted 
fellaheens  in  long  blue  shirts  and  skull-caps,  with  Greeks,  Per- 
sians, and  Bedouins  in  flowing  garments.  There  were  black  and 
white  striped  stuffs  of  every  description,  and  all  sorts  of  head- 
gear, high  caps,  red  fezzes,  head-shawls,  and  simjjle  white  tur- 
bans. There  were  dervishes  in  patched  coats  and  tangled  locks 
streaming  from  under  odd  head-coverings. 

Then  there  were  the  native  women  of  the  poorer  classes,  in  long, 
tattered  garments  of  blue  or  black  cotton,  barefooted,  and  mostly 
slender,  dark,  dirty,  and  grimy.  But  the  love  of  decoration  is 
apparent,  even  among  the  poorest,  for  they  wear  silver  anklets, 
rings  on  fingers  and  toes,  and  bracelets  on  arms.  The  face  is 
covered  with  a  narrow  l>lack  strip  of  veiling  attached  to  a 
spiral  brass  or  silver  piece,  which  is  placed  directly  between  the 
eyes,  the  veil  covering   all  the  face  below    the    eyes,  which  are 

153 


154  A  Woman's  Wandering?. 

darkened  with  some  pigment,  while  the  nails  are  stained  with 
henna. 

There  were  blue-hlack  Abyssinians,  Armenian  priests,  beg- 
gars, and  soldiers  in  bewildering  confusion.  The  streets  are 
decorated,  and  although  it  is  the  Greek  Christmas  and  Sunday, 
there  is  no  evidence  of  a  holiday.  Work  goes  on,  as  it  must, 
among  the  poor.     They  have  no  time  here  for  holidays. 

Alexandria  is  picturesque,  but  there  is  little  to  detain  the 
traveler  now  in  the  city,  which  flourished  two  thousand  ye&vs 
ago;  which  was  old  before  Cairo  was  thought  of. 

We  leave  it  and  go  through  the  emerald  reaches  of  the  delta, 
watching  the  palm-fringed  landscapes  and  the  receding  city, 
where  the  world's  greatest  lore  was  given  to  flames;  where 
Csesar  forgot,  in  Cleopatra's  arms,  all  except  her  for  a  time.  The 
place  is  an  infinite  background  to  all  the  play  of  passions. 
There  are  yellow  sands,  fronded  palms,  gardens,  palaces,  a  long 
expanse  of  bright  green  plain,  broad  canals,  a  forest  of  slender 
minarets  and  domes  —  the  train  stops,  and  we  are  in  Cairo. 

I  cannot  attempt  an  orderly  description  of  my  time  in  Cairo, 
but  the  first  day  was  the  last  of  the  Christmas  festivities  —  the 
8th  of  January  —  and  a  birthday  or  something  of  the  Khe- 
dive. The  city  was  in  gala  attire.  Great  Avreaths  of  flowers  and 
vines  trailed  over  doorways,  and  the  Star  and  Crescent  showed 
everywhere.  We  saw  the  Khedive  drive  by  our  hotel,  and  much 
of  Oriental  grandeur  from  the  broad  shaded  piazza  of  the  world- 
known  Shepherd's  Hotel.  There  were  officials  in  all  the  gilt  and 
insignia  of  office,  English  people  of  wealth,  and  all  kinds  of 
vehicles  filled  with  all  sorts  of  people. 

Especially  strange  were  the  Saises,  running  before  the  carriages 
of  royalty.  Clothed  in  fluttering  white  robes  reaching  only  to 
the  knee,  in  gold-embroidered  waistcoats,  and  with  Greek  cap, 
they  fly  with  wand  in  hand,  clearing  the  way.  Bare-legged, 
alert,  and  strong,  they  keep  ahead  of  the  swift-trotting  horses. 
They,  beyond  doubt,  go  at  the  pace  that  kills,  for  they  are  said 
to  die  young. 

Ladies  in  transparent  Turkish  veils  go  by  —  Egyptian,  Arab, 
Turk  —  a  medley  mixed  with  the  poorest  half-naked  beggars. 
Some  you  see  have  scarcely  a  garment.  Others  are  clothed  in 
finest  embroideries  and  rich  Eastern  stuffs.     Veiled  women  carry 


Egypt. 


157 


their  children  astride  the  left  shoulder,  the  little  ones  being  veri- 
table bronze  Cupids,  that  seem  to  know  hoAv  to  clinii  on  without 
falling  as  soon  as  they  are  able  to  sit  erect. 

Coal-black  Nul)ians,  and  mahogany  tints  and  colors  of  differ- 
ent nationalities  crowd  the  streets.  Tliey  are  from  deepest  black 
to   every  shade  of   golden-brown,  and  to  chocolate.     There    are 


BEDOUIX    PEASANTS. 


fellahs  and  donkey-ljoys.  An  air  of  good  humor  pervades  the 
masses.  Laughter  and  a  babel  of  dialects  mingle  witli  odors  of 
Araby  and  the  smell  of  an  unsavory  crowd.  We  gazed  until  our 
eyes  ached  at  the  mixture,  the  strange  phases  of  a  life  unknown, 
even  with  a  preconceived  idea  from  tiie  Midway  Plaisance  of  our 
Chicago  Fair. 


158  A  "Woman's  W'andkkixos. 

Afterwards  I  saw  the  l)azaars,  as  a  matter  of  course.  In  and 
out  of  the  narrow  streets  we  went,  where  in  small  niches  sit  the 
silent,  cross-legged  owners  of  precious  goods.  There  is  every- 
thing to  tempt  the  strangers  —  embroideries,  the  quaintest  of 
quaint  designs,  tempting  one  to  buy.  It  is  well  we  have  no 
heav}'  luggage,  otherwise  I  might  not  have  Ijeen  able  to  resist 
temptation. 

My  dragoman  took  me  in  one  place  where  there  was  scarcely 
room  enough  to  seat  three.  But  in  a  moment  coffee  and  lemon- 
ade were  served.  And  tlien  we  were  shown  such  l)eautiful  work, 
yet  not  urged  nor  importuned  to  l>uy. 

Picturesque  as  are  the  bazaars,  they  were  the  least  interest- 
ing to  me  of  all  I  saw  in  Cairo.  We  entered  the  Citadel  and 
Mosc^ue,  where  we  put  on  shoes  over  ours,  for  no  Christian- 
shod  foot  is  allowed  to  enter  the  holy  place. 

The  Mosc^ue  of  Sultan  Hassan  is  the  finest  existing  speci- 
men of  Arabian  architecture.  The  palace  of  the  Pasha  and 
Mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali  were  intensely  interesting,  l)ut  the 
culminating  glor}'  of  the  whole  was  the  entrancing  sight  that 
greeted  my  eyes,  for  it  was  from  the  Citadel's  heights  I  first 
saw  those  wonderful  Pyramids,  standing  in  silent  majesty  far 
out  on  the  tawny  Libyan  Desert. 

Our  stay  in  Cairo  was  not  long  enough  to  see  all  that  I 
wished.  That  must  come  later  on.  But  in  the  few  days  there 
was  a  vision  of  the  Muski,the  covered  luizaars,  and  dim  alleys; 
fountains  and  the  splashing  sound  of  water,  fairy  kiosks  and 
arching  tropical  trees,  the  songs  of  the  l)irds  in  the  gardens, 
and  the  music  from  cafes.  There  were  strange  people  and  strange 
ways,  whether  at  work  or  Ij'ing  sleeping  in  streets  or  on  pave- 
ments. One  often  stumliles  over  a  long  black  bundle,  which 
is  invariaV)ly  a  man  covered  in  his  long  garment.  The  road 
or  the  hard  cold  stones  are  as  good  a  bed  as  he  desires.  He 
is  always  in  the  dust,  and  is  used  to  it.  Often  we  saw  men 
dismount,  kneel,  and  hi}^  their  foreheads  in  the  dust  of  the 
roadside.  In  the  Citadel  I  saw  the  faithful  wash  in  the  fountain 
in  the  square  l)ef()re  going  into  the  Mosque  to  pray,  and  the 
merchant  kneel  in  his  little  shop.  And  wherever  they  were, 
they  seemed  oblivious  of  the  presence  of  any  one. 

I  talked  to  a  guide  and  guardian  of  thi'  Moscjue  in  the  Citadel. 


Egypt.  161 

He  seemed  not  to  like  the  presence  of  the  EngHsh  soldiers. 
I  asked  him  why  they  were  there  if  tliey  did  not  wish  them, 
and  why  they  did  not  keep  them  out  of  tlieir  country.  "  It 
is  because  our  Khedive  was  had.  But  Allah  is  good.  He 
knows  his  own  business,  and  it  will  be  all  right  in  time,"  he 
said.  Then,  to  my  astonishment,  for  he  was  quite  reticent 
until  he  knew  I  was  an  American,  he  said,  "By  the  way, 
the  Boers  are  doing  some  good  Avork  in  Africa." 

I  do  not  think  he  could  read  or  write.  He  had  picked  up 
a  little  English,  and  seemed  to  know  or  had  time  between 
prayers  to  find  out  something  of  the  news  of  the  world. 

I  made  but  one  excursion  outside  the  city  before  going  up  the 
Nile,  and  this  was  to  the  Pyramids  of  Gizeh.  Out  of  the  town 
and  across  the  river,  whose  waters  rocked  Cleopatra's  barge,  and 
rippled  among  the  rushes  where  Moses  lay  in  his  cradle,  I  see 
the  broad  stretch  of  water  where  fly  the  ever-graceful  boats  with 
wing-like  sails.  The  river's  brink  presents  a  busy  appearance. 
Throngs  of  people  are  here,  washing  and  bathing,  men  and  boys 
are  filling  huge  pigskins  for  use  among  the  poor,  and  women  and 
mere  slips  of  girls  carry  immense  jars  of  water  on  their  heads. 
A  tiny  girl  will  carry  a  load  that  I  could  scarcely  lift. 

I  saw  men  go  down  in  the  water,  divest  themselves  of  their  one 
robe,  wash  it,  and  then  bathe  themselves.  It  takes  but  a  few 
minutes  for  the  drying  in  the  hot  sun.  They  do  not  mind  being 
wet,  for  their  garments  never  seem  dry.  That  pertains,  of 
course,  to  those  who  carry  the  water  and  do  their  laundry  work 
in  the  river. 

The  magic  Nile  waters  we  have  read  of  so  often  seem  anything 
but  fanciful  or  poetic  here,  as  the  Avater  is  yellow  and  muddy. 
But  people  and  animals  drink,  bathe,  and  love  it  as  if  it  were  the 
clearest  and  purest.     It  is  all  and  all  to  them.     Why  not? 

We  drive  on  over  that  beautiful  road  towards  the  Pyramids, 
that  for  seven  miles  is  lined  with  the  great  lebbeck  trees,  arched 
and  meeting  over  the  well-sprinkled  avenue  —  a  blessing  in  this 
country,  which  scarcely  knows  rain  —  until  the  road  ends,  and 
we  drive  up  the  long  sandy  slope.  The  desert  and  rocky  plat- 
forms are  reached,  and  we  are  under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyramids. 

I  know  that  this  is  Cheops,  towering  in  unexpected  bulk  and 
majesty  above  my  head.     I  think,    however  preconceived  one's 


162 


A  Woman's  ^\^\^•DERI^•f;s 


ideas  may  be,  the  effect  is  different  from  all  imagination.  I  had 
not  that  sense  of  delight  often  experienced  in  gazing  at  some 
gorgeous  landscape  or  towering  mountain.  Here  the  senses  seem 
overpowered.  One  is  emptied,  so  to  speak,  of  words,  of  ideas. 
It  is  the  mystery  of  ages  gone  by.  I  am  awed  b}-  the  silent,  end- 
less, tawny  desert,  where  no  thing  of  life  is  seen  to  grow  beyond 
the  borders  of  the  river.  And  these  Pyramids,  built  of  huge 
blocks  of  limestone,  i)iled  high  upward,  and  seen  against  the  clear 
Egyptian  sky,  standing  so  long  in  the  warm,  dry  air,  are  the 
color  of  the  sands  —  seemingly  tiu^  color  of  gold  against  the  lilue 
of  heaven. 

The  impressions  of  tliat  visit  can  never  i)ass  from  my  mind,  as 
I  stood  there  touching  those  massive  blocks  that  have  stood  in 
place  over  six  thousand  years.  Its  immensity,  and  the  long,  vast, 
rugged  wall  that  is  rooted  in  the  sands  and  reaches  so  far  above 

me,  is  strangely  over- 
powering. My  mind 
seems  fighting  the 
solid  phalanx  of 
years  that  have  gone 
by  since  these  Pyra- 
mids were  created.  It 
is  a  ])lace  that,  what- 
ever it  may  mean  to 
others,  struck  me 
iluml). 

It  was  as  well  to 
rest  in  silence,  for 
all  my  strength  was 
needed  for  the  as- 
cent. Although  we 
were  told  it  would 
be  too  hard  to  climb 
that  steep  slope  to 
the  top,  which  is 
four  liundrcd  and 
eighty  feet  from  the 
base  —  and  though 
i:\mN(;  chkoi-.s.  each  block  measures 


Egypt.  163 

almost  three  feet  in  height  —  we  would  not  listen.  I  had  three 
Arabs  to  assist  me,  and  though  much  has  been  said  about  their 
dishonesty  and  extortion,  we  found  them  kind  and  encouraging. 
Block  by  Ijlock  up  that  mighty  wall,  where  many  men  falter  and 
only  few  try,  I  went.  And  although  it  was  fearful,  worse  even 
than  the  ascent  of  Vesuvius,  I  finally  reached  the  summit.  I 
know  nothing  about  the  feelings  or  sensations  of  others  who 
toiled  up  that  weary  way,  luit  I  felt  much  as  I  did  once  when  up 
in  a  balloon.  There  was  the  same  sensation  —  as  though  one  was 
suspended  in  air. 

The  broad,  stretching,  undularing  desert;  heaps  of  l)roken 
masonry;  yawning  pits;  rifts  showing  here  and  there;  and  the 
number  of  smaller  Pyramids  can  only  be  thoroughly  appreciated 
from  the  top.  The  Sierra-like  ridges  of  distant  hills,  Cairo, 
Mokattam  hills,  the  Citadel,  and  glittering  domes  and  minarets 
show  clearly,  as  if  at  our  feet.  There  were  the  gray-green  palm 
groves  and  the  emerald,  fertile  Nile  Valley,  which  I  saw  and  ap- 
preciated for  the  first  time,  in  all  its  blossoming  beauty  beating 
up  against  the  sands,  the  living,  joyous  stretch  of  river  keeping 
back  the  drifting  sands  that  seem  the  very  embodiment  of  death 
and  desolation.  Other  Pyramids  appeared  in  the  distance.  There 
were  Memphis  and  Heliopolis.  Mystery  broods  over  that  coun- 
try—  the  mystery  of  death.  The  sun  illumines  the  hot,  dry 
sands  and  the  territory  of  the  dead.  The  shadow  of  the  Pyra- 
mids tells  us  it  is  time  to  leave.  80  we  go  down  that  slope  very 
much  quicker  than  we  went  up. 

At  the  base  we  found  my  dragoman  had  procured  camels,  and 
Ave  rode  those  beasts  —  so  essential  here  —  silent,  soft-footed,  and 
sure  —  until  we  paused  before  that  strange  monument  of  bygone 
ages,  the  Sphinx.  In  the  half-light  of  the  afternoon's  glow  I  saw 
that  mystery,  part  couchant  and  partly  buried  in  the  shifting  sands, 
facing  east.  What  strange  dawns  and  stranger  nights  have  bright- 
ened and  shadowed  that  placid  face,  that  seems  waiting  in  silence, 
mysterious  and  sublime.  I  forgot  Time  as  I  stood  before  that 
mighty  face,  older  than  the  Pyramids,  resting  on  that  lonely 
desert,  where  no  single  l:»lade  of  grass  or  thing  of  life  is  ever 
known;  gazing  ever  eastward  where  the  sun  breaks  the  gray 
mists  that  hover  over  the  silvery  winding  Nile  and  the  moving, 
animated    life.     The    l)i'eath    from  the    fragrant  fields  is  wafted 


164  A  Woman's  Wandehinos. 

up  here  to  tliis  helpless  form,  through  halmy  evenings  and  moon- 
tranced  nights.  A  touch  startles  me,  and  I  am  led  to  the  kneel- 
ing camel,  a  great  white  beast  —  Rameses  II.  they  call  him  —  and 
we  go  back  to  the  carriage  and  return  to  the  city  from  that  des- 
olate, ghostly  region.  I  pass  through  the  fields,  green  and  blos- 
soming with  flowers,  where  the  camels  go  with  such  heavy  bur- 
dens, and  the  long-necked  black  buffalo  work  in  the  fields  or 
stand  in  the  water  of  the  canals.  Men  and  women  in  long, 
loose  robes,  veiled  and  turbaned,  add  to  the  strange  picture. 
And  then  the  day  is  done. 

We  visited,  among  novelties  of  Cairo,  the  Howling  Dervishes, 
and  saw  them  sitting  in  a  circle,  intoning  in  a  strange,  solemn 
sort  of  chant  or  undertone,  the  voices  rising  and  falling.  "Allah! " 
"Allah!  "  they  repeat,  their  heads  inclining  with  each  repetition 
—  slowly  at  first,  then,  as  they  increase  in  rapidity,  the  voices 
rise,  the  whole  circle  become  frenzied  and  give  vent  to  shrieks, 
groans,  rocking  to  and  fro  —  the  leader  cheering  then  on  by  new 
intonations  and  gurgles  that  increase  the  madness,  until  one's 
head  is  turned  and  we  think  it  time  to  get  away  from  the  horrible 
sight. 

We  were  not  in  among  the  crowd,  as  our  dragoman  had  seats 
for  our  party  on  a  porch.  We  thought  it  a  part  of  the  building 
wherein  the  Dervishes  held  their  carousals,  until  a  slave  came 
out  and  we  were  invited  into  a  gorgeous  chamber  where  a  Sheik 
sat  in  state.  He  received  us  kindly  and  asked  us  some  questions 
while  his  servant  served  coffee.  It  was  an  honor  seldom  accorded 
strangers,  and  if  entirely  unexpected,  was  appreciated,  for  these 
people  are  conservative,  and  care  but  little  about  strangers. 

Wherever  we  went,  in  and  around  the  city,  it  was  always  the 
same,  something  new  here,  where  the  East  and  the  West  join 
hands  in  strange  confusion,  where  guides  and  Saises,  veiled 
women  and  stately  Pashas  jostle  the  foreigners.  It  is  a  life  in 
the  abstract,  unlike  any  known  to  us.  Yet  we  see  so  much  in 
nature  familiar  to  us. 

Oranges  and  lemons  are  plentiful  and  cheaper  than  with  us, 
and  as  delicious  as  are  ours  at  home.  Nowhere  outside  California 
have  I  found  an  orange  worth  eating  until  we  arrived  here. 
Those  of  Italy  were  filled  with  seeds  and  too  sour  almost  for  eat- 
ing.    The  only  ])alatable  oranges  there  were  the  small  mandarins. 


Egypt.  165 

In  Egypt  there  are  no  seedless  oranges,  but  they  are  very  sweet 
and  luscious. 

I  saw  watermelons  and  strawl)erries,  while  at  every  tvu'n  were 
great  baskets  of  fresh,  ripe  tomatoes.  There  were  fields  of  blossom- 
ing peas  and  beans;  acres  of  l)ananas  with  ripening  fruit;  i)onie- 
granates,  oleanders,  sycamore  trees,  and  much  we  are  accustomed 
to  see,  only  more  abundant  and  farther  advanced  than  witii  us 
in  January. 

We  drove  over  the  road  that  ends  at  the  Palace,  and  along  the 
Nile,  where  one  sees  the  fine  ec;[uipages  and  gray  Arabian  horses, 
and  saw  the  tombs  of  the  Caliphs,  and  Heliopolis  —  On,  of 
Scripture.  Mary,  the  Christ-child,  and  Joseph  rested  here  when 
they  entered  Egypt.  We  saw  the  Barrage  clu  Nil,  the  largest 
weir  in  the  world,  where  the  water  of  the  Nile  is  kept  at  the  same 
level  in  all  seasons,  so  as  to  oljviate  the  necessity  of  the  old-time 
machinery  for  irrigation  with  its  great  expenditure  of  labor.  The 
navigation  of  the  river  is  carried  on  Ijelow  here  by  means  of  spa- 
cious basins  and  locks. 

From  the  top  of  the  Mokattam  Hills  we  took  our  last  look  on 
Cairo  for  a  time,  as  I  leave  soon  for  a  long  trip  up  the  Nile.  For 
twenty  clays  we  shall  be  on  that  mystical  old  river  we  now  see 
flowing  in  sinuous  ways  in  and  lieyond  the  city. 

The  gleaming  points  of  the  thousands  of  minarets  are  before 
us,  the  picturesque  Citadel  and  Mosque,  where  we  saw  the  faith- 
ful at  prayers,  prostrate,  with  forehead  touching  the  floor,  as  one 
sees  them  everywhere,  for  that  matter.  The  far-away  Pyramids 
are  clothed  in  an  atmosphere  of  tender  half-light.  Violet  shad- 
ows are  creeping  over  the  yellow  Libyan  sands,  now  looking  con- 
fused and  tumbled  like  the  waves  of  a  troubled  sea.  We  are  in 
a  land  of  liewildering  dreams,  creaking  shadoofs,  and  drifting 
feluccas,  while  there  comes  a  faint  cry  of  jackals  out  on  the  sands. 
Then  we  find  ourselves  down  in  the  streets,  with  the  sound  of 
stirring  waltzes  floating  up  from  cafes,  and  the  Esbekiyeh  gar- 
dens, which  are  brilliant  in  lights  and  music.  We  are  back  from 
the  desert,  which  is  symbolical  of  death,  to  a  life  of  soul  and 
senses,  gay  and  splendid  in  this  city  of  half  a  million  souls,  for- 
getful of  the  years,  the  dead  past,  that  lie  out  there  on  the  sands 
so  near  this  throbbing,  teeming,  and  joyous  existence.  And  I 
slept  and  forgot,  but  my  dreams  were  of  a  past  that  was  "  aeons 
of  thought  awav." 


166  A  "Woman's  Wandhf^ings. 

I  am  oft"  for  a  trij)  of  six  hundred  miles  up  the  Nile,  on  the 
An<rlo-American  steamer  Puritan,  the  very  finest  and  best  boat 
that  plies  these  waters.  It  gives  me  a  sort  of  ''  homey  "  feeling 
to  see  our  own  Stars  and  Stripes  floating  above  my  stateroom, 
and  makes  me  feel  less  lonely  in  this  strange  land. 

Starting  from  the  Kasr-el-Nil,  the  fine  drawl)ridge  at  Cairo, 
we  soon  passed  the  island  of  Rhoda  and  the  Xilometer.  The 
domes  and  minarets,  the  palaces  and  gardens,  ai*e  soon  left  be- 
hind. The  Citadel  shows  clear  and  distinct.  The  sharp,  clear 
outlines  of  the  grand  Pyramids  are  seen  against  the  sky;  and 
with  an  "Ah!"  of  delight  and  admiration  I  breathe  a  heartfelt 
sigh  of  gratification  that  at  last  I  am  off  and  away  on  the  longed- 
for  trip  up  this  magical  old  river  —  a  river  that  has  no  equal  in 
all  the  wide  world.  The  promenade  deck  is  luxuriant  with  easy- 
chairs  and  couches.  Beautiful  foreign  rugs  are  on  the  floors,  and 
all  is  as  comfortable  as  a  drawing-room.  We  walk  and  sit,  or,  if 
we  prefer  it,  here  are  our  staterooms,  if  we  wish  privacy,  on  the 
same  deck,  with  the  most  enchanting  views  to  be  seen  from  my 
own  cozily  furnished  room. 

A  wide  valley  spreads  before  us,  its  low  banks  lined  with  clus- 
tering or  detached  clumps  of  the  tall  date  palms,  lifting  bare, 
rugged,  and  leafless  trunks  to  a  height  of  eighty  and  one  hun- 
dred feet  before  the  fronded  branches  are  reached.  To  the  right 
and  left,  the  horizon  is  bounded  by  ranges  of  yellow  mountains, 
in  whose  recesses  lay  soft  violet  shadows.  I  see  cuttings  fresh 
from  the  limestone  rocks  glittering  and  white,  that  after  a  time 
turn  a  beautiful  yellow  color.  Houses,  white  and  glaring  at 
first,  after  exposure  to  the  air  assume  beautiful  chrome  hues. 
The  mountains,  the  Pyramids,  the  sands,  are  all  the  same  color, 
—  nothing  else  would  suit  Egypt. 

Soon  the  swift  steamer  stops  at  Bedrashayn,  and  Ibrahem,  our 
dragoman,  who  boasts  of  the  blood  of  the  Prophets  in  his  veins, 
takes  our  party  for  our  first  excursion. 

We  are  glad  the  fear  of  the  plague  has  kept  the  bulk  of  the 
tourists  away.  We  are  the  the  first  of  the  year.  Quarantine  is 
removed,  and  they  are  coming  in  swarms  now.  Our  boat  accom- 
modates eighty  people.  We  number  seventeen.  So  it  is  charm- 
ing for  us,  but  very  bad  for  the  company. 

We  are  hustled  on  donkeys,  and  each  of  us  has  a  barefooted 


sS 


1"'  n 


\i;  \i;    viLi.Ac.i-;   i>\    .\ili-; 


E(;ypt.  1()9 

runner  to  steer  the  lieasts  and  jtrod  them.  None  are  briiUe-wise. 
Amid  yells  and  cries  we  were  hurried  across  a  dusty  flat  until 
we  arrived  at  Bedrashayn,  and  realized  what  an  Arab  village  is. 
At  a  distance  it  had  looked  very  pretty  amid  the  palm  groves, 
but  the  squalid  misery  apparent  everywhere  took  away  the  poetry 
at  once.  Brown,  half-nude  children  thronged  the  wayside,  and 
the  cry  of  "  Backsheesh  "  rang  in  our  ears. 

We  stared  into  eyes  half  eaten  out  with  sores  caused  by  flies 
which  are  never  Ijrushed  away.  Superstition,  some  say,  is  the 
reason  they  are  never  molested.  Laziness  and  indifference  are 
nearer  the  mark,  I  fancy.  Be  that  as  it  may,  half  the  male  popu- 
lation have  something  wrong  with  the  eyes  —  some  crossed, 
scarred,  lids  half  eaten,  one-eyed,  disfigured.  We  could  not 
judge  the  females,  for  all,  save  the  young  girls  and  very  old 
women,  are  veiled. 

We  went  through  a  dense  grove  of  palms  and  knew  we  were  on 
the  site  of  Memphis,  the  capital  that  King  Menes  founded  four 
thousand  years  before  the  Christian  era.  No  capital  in  the  world 
has  so  long  kept  a  place  in  history  or  dates  back  so  far  as  this. 
It  began  with  Egypt's  first  king  —  l)efore  whom  all  are  myths. 
We  know  he  turned  the  river  to  build  his  capital,  which,  after 
him,  all  the  Pharaohs  helped  to  adorn.  There  is  but  little  left 
now  of  Memphis,  that  once  could  sieze  — 

"  From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  fame 
And  wear  it  bright  throngh  centuries," 

—  only  broken  bits  and  fragments  of  statues.  The  statue  of 
Rameses  II.,  which  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  Temple  of  Ptah, 
has  been  dug  out  of  the  Nile  mud.  We  looked  in  vain  for  some- 
thing to  remind  us  of  the  splendor  of  a  place  that  extended  over 
a  space  that  required  half  a  day  to  cross  in  any  given  direction. 
Mounds  and  rubbish  arise,  trees  and  grain  grow  above  the  ruins. 
The  artificial  lake  is  only  another  name  for  a  pool.  We  tarried 
only  a  short  time  here.  The  Memphis  of  Cheops,  Cephren,  and 
the  early  kings  who  built  their  pyramid-tombs  out  yonder  on  the 
desert,  is  now  only  a  name  for  desolation  and  decay. 

We  went  on  over  green  fields  of  wheat,  barley,  and  rice  to  the 
Pyramids  of  Sakkara.  Here  were  miles  of  monuments,  from  the 
lofty  Pyramids  to  rock-hewn  caverns.  The  step  Pyramid  is  one 
of  the  oldest  monuments  in  Egypt.  It  is  built  of  poor  stone,  and 
is  nothing  like  those  of  Gizeh. 


170  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

From  those  we  went  to  the  Tombs  of  Apis,  the  sacred  bull  of 
the  god  Ptah.  These  bulls  were  embalmed  like  human  beings 
and  interred  with  great  pomp.  We  were  shown  subterranean 
passages  and  large  granite  sarcophagi,  some  twenty  or  more,  I 
believe,  where  they  were  entombed.  But  in  every  instance  the 
massive  lids  had  been  removed  and  the  remains  taken  away. 
Some  of  the  sarcophagi  are  said  to  weigh  sixty-five  tons.  How 
they  were  brought  into  these  narrow  chambers,  where  there  is 
scarcely  room  to  pass  around  them,  is  a  mystery.  They  were 
put  in,  however,  and  sealed  up  so  well  that  when  the  tombs  were 
excavated  and  opened,  the  footprints  of  the  men  who  finished  the 
work  were,  after  three  thousand  seven  hundred  years,  as  distinct 
as  if  only  a  day  or  so  had  elapsed. 

The  tomb  of  Tih,  near  here,  is  four  thousand  five  hundred  years 
old.  On  the  walls  are  mural  reliefs  faithfully  representing  the 
life  of  Tih.  who  was  a  priest,  and  a  very  wealthy  man  and  proud, 
8o  the  wliole  of  his  pleasures  and  treasures  were  engraved 
upon  the  walls.  First,  he  is  shown  about  ten  times  the  size  of 
his  slaves.  Then  follow  all  sorts  of  people,  animals,  birds,  etc. 
We  see  them  plowing  with  the  same  sort  of  plow  we  see  used 
now  in  the  fields.  The  oxen  are  tied  up  by  one  foot,  even  as  they 
tie  the  poor  little  donkeys,  oxen,  and  camels  now.  Rams  are 
treading  the  corn ;  men  are  reaping,  winnowing,  or  sowing  it.  Some 
are  feeding  the  stock  and  fowls,  others  fishing,  sailing,  or  ship- 
building. Women  are  carrying  great  loads  on  their  heads,  as 
they  still  do.  There  are  dogs,  crocodiles,  and  wild  ducks  wing- 
ing their  way  through  the  marshes,  all  so  faithfully  represented 
m  transitory  movements  and  spirited  and  fleeting  action,  that 
one  is  led  to  believe  they  had  Landseers  and  Bonheurs  in  those 
days,  who  carved  and  painted  on  walls  in  colors  and  rough  stone, 
and  so  well  that  Time  seems  to  touch  them  not. 

The  dewless  and  rainless  district  has  everything  to  do  with 
their  preservation,  for  the  sands  are  forever  dry.  It  was  like  a 
furnace,  almost,  in  Tih's  tomb.  The  sands  deep  down  in  that 
underground  retreat  burnt  my  feet.  The  air  was  hot  and  stifl- 
ing, almost  as  hot  as  I  found  it  once  in  a  mine  in  Virginia  City, 
three  thousand  two  hundred  feet  below  the  surface.  This  was  a 
dry,  intense  lieat,  yet  not  one  hundred  feet  deep.  It  seemed  cool 
and  pleasant  when  we  emerged,  though  the  sun  beat  down  on 
tlie  sands  of  the  desert. 


EdYPT.  171 

We  remounted  and  went  back  toward  the  river  and  saw  yawn- 
ing places  where  excavations  had  been  made  and  tombs  rifled, 
but  the  shifting  sands  fill  up  the  work  of  months.  We  pass  the 
walls  of  the  Pyramid,  the  oldest,  perhaps,  of  all  buildings  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  Then  there  is  a  hurrying  l)ack,  for  there  is  a 
four-mile  ride,  and  the  day  wanes. 

We  passed  camels  laden  with  all  sorts  of  goods.  These  poor 
beasts,  ill-fed,  are  patient  even  in  their  complainings.  Growl  as 
they  may  and  do,  they  do  their  work  well.  Ther-e  are  the  long- 
necked,  queer-shaped  cattle  they  call  the  buffaloes,  brown  and 
shaggy,  as  are  the  sheep. 

Men,  women,  and  children  are  here.  Donkej^s  are  braying. 
The  cry  of  "  Backsheesh,"  meaning  a  gift,  is  ever  ringing  in  our 
ears,  and  Ave  are  back  to  our  boat,  and  know  our  first  day's  excur- 
sion is  ended. 

After  Memphis  we  went  on  up  the  wonderful  river,  —  a  river  I 
found  in  all  its  length  to  be  full  of  interest,  and  never  monotonous. 
While  there  is  no  startling  scenery,  there  is  a  coloring  here  that, 
like  Yellowstone  Park,  cannot  be  told  or  painted.  It  would  be 
hard  to  find  colors  to  match  the  shades  of  yellow  seen  on  the  Lib- 
yan rocks,  mountains,  and  desert  sands — tints  ranging  from  old 
gold  to  brighter  yellows,  warm  maize,  salmon,  and  rosy  hues  of 
the  ripe  apricot.  These  exquisite  tones  run  against  a  sky  that  is 
at  all  times  beautiful,  through  an  atmosphere  which  is  to  me 
marvelous,  for  though  there  is  scarcely  ever  a  shower  of  rain,  the 
atmosphere  is  clear  as  in  the  spring-time  wdth  us. 

"  There,  drowsing  in  golden  sunlight, 
Loiters  the  slow,  smooth  Nile, 
Through  slender  papyri,  that  covers 
The  wary  crocodile. 

"  The  lotus  lolls  on  the  water, 
And  opens  its  heart  of  gold, 
And  over  its  broad  leaf  pavement 
Never  a  ripple  is  rolled." 

Except  now  and  then,  when  a  few  clouds  were  in  the  sky,  there 
was  only  the  burning  indigo-blue  of  the  zenith,  shading  off  to  the 
horizon  into  paler  shades  of  violet,  with  gray  and  opal  tints. 
The  shadows  that  nestle  in  the  sand-rifts  and  serrated  mountains 


172  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

seem  to  take  the  place  of  forests,  while  ever  he3'ond  the  green 
water-mark  of  the  Nile  stretch  the  sands,  where  no  single  living, 
growing  thing  is  seen. 

Going  up  against  the  stream,  I  find  my  most  vivid  impressions 
begin  with  Memphis,  going  on  and  on  until  the  mind  is  confused. 
This  land  of  Egypt  is  puzzling.  We  go  l)ack  against  centuries  as 
though  they  were  days.  We  read,  and  visit  ruins,  and  talk  easily 
of  what  we  see,  and  walk  under  arches  put  up  four  thousand 
years  ago,  knowing  that,  try  as  we  will,  it  is  not  possible  to  fully 
comprehend  or  understand. 

We  go  on  past  objects  of  interest  during  the  day.  The  boat 
always  anchors  for  the  night,  so  we  miss  nothing  worth  seeing. 
There  are  changing  scenes  at  every  bend  of  the  river.  The  date 
palms  are  everywhere,  —  those  same  palms  on  which  the  govern- 
ment demands  a  tax  of  twelve  and  a  half  cents  each,  yearly, 
whether  they  bear  or  not.  There  are  ever  the  tall,  dark-robed 
men  and  boys  in  fluttering  garments,  busy,  or  sitting  silently  in 
the  sand.  The  women  are  forever  carrying  jars  of  water,  and 
carefully  putting  a  corner  of  the  square  drapery  covering  the 
head  and  shoulders  over  the  eyes. 

Little  patches  of  lupins,  barley,  and  wheat  grow  along  the 
river.  Doora,  or  Egyptian  corn,  will  he  planted  later.  Much  of 
the  soil  usually  sown  is  now  bare  and  cracked,  like  our  adobe 
lands,  as  the  Nile  is  unusually  low  this  year  and  there  will  be 
much  suffering  before  the  country  is  flooded  this  C3ming  summer. 

Every  few  paces  are  the  shadoofs  for  irrigating  the  lands  near 
the  river's  edge,  fashioned  like  a  well-sweep,  with  long  pole  and 
basins  of  tin  or  leather.  The}'  are  worked  by  men  and  carried 
up  in  terraces  as  the  water  recedes.  Four  men  are  now  required 
to  take  the  water  from  the  river  to  the  level  of  the  banks,  and 
when  the  top  is  reached,  one  pail  of  water  must  be  passed  through 
the  hands  of  the  four  men.  Buch  is  the  primitive  way  they  irri- 
gate the  small  patches.  In  a  few  places  we  saw  jars  attached  to 
endless  chains.  These  belong  to  the  few  who  can  afford  a  ]>it  of 
machinery  and  have  cattle  to  work  them.  Some  of  the  larger 
fields  are  irrigated  by  these  sakkiehs,  but  most  of  the  small 
strips  or  squares  along  the  river's  edge  are  irrigated  by  men, 
who  ai'e  cheaper  than  animals. 

A  man  or  boy  works  for  about  one  piastre  a  day,  or   something 


Egypt.  173 

over  five  cents,  and  furnishes  his  own  food.  Their  clothing 
counts  for  but  Uttle,  as  they  are  mostly  nude.  In  the  blistering 
sun  and  fierce  north  winds  they  work  as  I  have  never  seen  man 
or  beast  work,  subsisting  on  the  hard  bread,  partly  sun-dried, 
partly  baked,  and  the  pith  of  the  sugar  cane,  which  grows  so 
abundantly  here. 

Wood  is  not  known,  only  as  it  is  imported.  The  few  trees  are 
kept  for  shade.  The  stalks  of  the  Egyptian  corn  are  used  for 
huts  and  thatching  roofs,  with  the  palm  leaves,  and  also  for  fuel. 
This  same  corn  is  threshed  out  by  flails  and  winnowed  by  tossing 
it  in  the  air.     The  blades  are  used  for  fodder.     Nothing  is  wasted 

here. 

The  small  villages  are  built  of  sun-dried  bricks,  or  the  stalks 
of  the  corn  are  put  up  and  plastered  with  mud.  It  does  not  rain, 
and  they  literally  live  outdoors  the  year  round.  Any  inclosure 
that  is  ample  for  the  household,  and  their  flocks  or  poultry,  —  if 
they  possess  any  —for  the  night  is  all  they  wish  or  need. 

And  then  we  come  to  Beni-Hassan,  where  we  visit  some  curi- 
ous tombs,  which  are  similar  to  others. 

I  shall  only  say  that  here,  too,  were  the  tombs  of  cats  sacred  to 
Pakhst,  the  patron  goddess  of  the  region.  I  thought  I  was  fortu- 
nate in  securing  one  of  those  mummy  cats  from  our  dragoman. 
Later  on,  I  knew  in  all  faith  that,  while  the  nine  lives  were  gone 
without  doubt,  there  were  more  than  that  many  smells  attached 
to  this  sacred  Maria.  I  was  the  envy  of  the  whole  boat,  and 
could  not  acknowledge  my  mummy's  failings.  So  one  night,  when 
the  boat  was  anchored,  and  all  were  asleep,  the  moon  and  stars 
shed  a  tender  light  on  a  funeral  without  music  or  mourners,  as 
my  cat,  with  a  weight  tied  to  its  toes  or  its  brown-yellow  wrap- 
pings, went  down  into  the  Nile,  let  us  hope  for  good  and  forever. 

There  were  days  of  calm,  bright,  and  perfect  weather  —  nothing 
like  the  heat  we  expected  to  find.  But  this  is  an  unusually  cool 
season,  for  which  I  am  thankful.  We  stopped  now  and  then  to 
visit  ruins,  sugar  factories,  or  villages,  going  through  bazaars, 
and  always  learning  something. 

The  primitive  way  many  of  these  people  live  would  shame  our 
Indians.  They  eat  httle  and  wear  less.  They  are  clothed  in 
modesty  —  modesty,  however,  is  scarcely  the  word  to  use,  —  the 
climate  rendering  superfluous  clothing  unnecessary.     Their  in- 


174  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

nocent  indifference,  I  thought,  phicecl  them  on  a  par  with  animals, 
until  one  day  a  gentleman  threw  a  half-worn  shirt  to  one  of  the 
Bisharins.  Shortly  afterwards  he  reappeared,  dressed  in  the  one 
garment,  but  a  portion  of  the  tail  had  l)een  torn  off  to  decorate 
his  head.  The  antics  he  cut  and  the  envious  glances  of  his 
friends  proved  that  pride  lurked  Ix'iicath  the  seeming  indiffer- 
ence. 

At  last  we  reach  Assiout,  the  capital  of  Middle  Egypt,  where  is 
made  the  beautiful  red  and  black  pottery.  We  were  scarcely 
landed  before  all  sorts  of  people,  with  all  kinds  of  wares,  were 
squatting,  toad-like,  on  square  bits  of  cloth,  with  articles  for  sale. 
Again  we  took  donkeys  and  rode  through  the  town,  which  was 
like  all  visited — dirty  and  filthy — yet  looking  so  beautiful  in 
the  distance. 

We  reached  the  desert  and  the  hills,  where  were  more  tombs 
and  grottoes.  Here  the  wolf  was  worshiped,  and  the  remains  of 
these  animals  and  human  beings  were  scattered  all  over  the 
ground.  A  black  vision  stepped  in  front  of  me  and  said,  "Anti- 
chi."  I  looked  at  the  antique,  who  might  have  stepped  out  of 
an  overlooked  mummy-case.  He  was  so  wrinkled  and  shriveled 
that  for  a  moment  I  wondered  it  could  speak,  until  I  realized  the 
outstretched  hand  held  the  head  of  a  wolf  and  the  fragment  of  a 
mummied  hand  not  much  worse-looking  than  his.  No;  I  was  not 
searching  for  any  more  remains.  But,  turn  where  I  would,  I  saw 
similar  sights.  The  remains  lie  scattered  about  on  the  dry  lands, 
and  the  years  seem  not  to  change  them. 

I  am  not  loth  to  leave  the  tombs,  and  take  a  view  from  the 
heights  said  to  be  among  the  finest  in  Egypt.  Below  lie  the  heaps 
of  limestone  and  dihris  of  the  plundered  tombs.  Beyond,  the  fields 
are  green  with  grain  and  blossoming  clover.  The  towers  of  the 
town  show  amid  the  waving  palms.  The  river  glistens  and  is 
lost  in  the  distance,  while  around  the  horizon's  rim  lies  the 
boundless  desert. 

We  saw  two  funerals,  one  where  the  women  went  l)v,  wailing, 
and  throwing  dust  over  their  heads  like  mad  cattle.  Their  dead 
had  been  buried,  but  they  were  going  to  visit  the  departed,  and, 
it  seemed,  were  desirous  of  being  heard.  The  other  procession 
comprised  men,  carrying  a  form  covered  with  an  old  shawl,  on 
their  shoulders.     They,  too,  were  chanting  and  wailing.     There 


E(!YPT.  175 

is  little  ceremony  boyoiul  the  wailing.  They  have  no  coffin.  A 
piece  of  cloth  is  placed  over  the  body  and  it  is  i>ut  in  the  earth. 
It  was  unspeakal)ly  sad  and  mournful  to  me. 

I  saw  much  of  it,  later  on  — pitiful,  desolate  little  mounds  in 
the  hot,  lifeless  sands  —  no  stone  or  mark  of  any  kind  except, 
perhaps,  now  and  then,  a  rough  stone  picked  up  from  the  dust  to 
mark  the  place.  There  is  a  strange  contrast  between  the  tombs 
of  the  rulers,  whereon  is  all  that  wealth  could  lavish  and  deco- 
rate, while  for  the  poor  a  bed  in  the  sands  seems  all  that  is  de- 
sired or  expected. 

From  the  river  I  glanced  V)ack  to  Assiout,  whose  Moslem  towers 
and  minarets  alone  are  new.  The  long,  green  stretch  shows  the 
blessed  influence  of  water.  The  mountains,  like  the  rest,  ever 
new,  yet  old  as  the  oldest,  are  Init  little  changed,  perhaps,  since 
Moses,  the  meek,  returned  after  killing  his  man,  and  daringly  led 
the  Children  of  Israel  from  the  land  of  leeks  and  unbaked  bread. 

What  memories  crowd  and  till  the  mind!  Rameses  died,  under 
whom  the  Israelites  were  scourged  and  the  bitterest  liondage 
felt.  Then  came  the  plagues,  then  the  death  of  their  first-born, 
and  Pharaoh  had  Indden  them  go  forth  from  Goshen.  Yet, 
strangely  enough,  after  they  were  delivered  they  longed  for  the 
fish  and  melons,  the  leeks  and  onions,  asking  for  bondage,  and 
preferring  to  die  in  Egypt  rather  than  in  the  wilderness.  With 
it  all,  they  perhaps  loved  Egypt,  the  old,  mysterious  country,  the 
land  of  the  ibis  and  lotus.  They  had  helped  Inuld  some  of  tliese 
imperishable  tombs,  and  so  remembered  the  graves. 

Paradoxical  it  would  seem,  but  one  gets  used  to  such  things 
here  in  this  strange  land,  with  its  stupendous  tombs,  its  ruins, 
and  its  antiquities.  The  mighty  have  fallen,  but  in  the  fall  there 
is  so  much  of  grandeur,  a  marvel  in  the  mysterious  monuments 
that  speak  of  remote  ages,  a  fascination  where  are  seen  things 
too  strange  for  solving.  The  strangeness  of  the  rainless  climate 
and  equally  strange  clearness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  strange 
miracle  of  the  all-powerful,  life-begetting  river,  whose  annual 
miracle  represents  resurrection  and  teeming  life  from  lifeless 
sands  —  all  impress  the  stranger  strongly.  Small  wonder  this 
river  is  still  loved  as  of  old,  if  not  so  worshiped.  Paganism  gave 
way  to  Christianity,  that  in  turn  to  Islamism,  and  while  they 
now  bow  not  down  to  the  crocodile,  wolf,  snake,  or  thousands  of 


176  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

strange  gods,  they  love  the  all-powerful  river,  as  they  should,  for 
it  certainly  is  true  that  prosperity  and  water  go  hand  in  hand 
here.  Egypt  is  the  gift  of  the  Nile  —  beautiful  with  it,  nothing 
without  it. 

And  so  we  go,  like  the  history  of  Egypt,  up  and  on  through  this 
wonderland  of  river,  and  cliffs,  and  valleys,  where  nestle  the  mud 
huts,  and  the  lupins  edged  the  water's  rim.  There  is  ever  the 
belt  of  cultivated  soil,  whereon  are  raised  three  or  four  crops  a 
year.  The  fringe  of  feathery  palms  means  so  much  to  the  natives. 
They  would,  indeed,  be  desolate  without  their  dates.  The  winged 
boats,  like  huge  birds,  are  ever  seen  on  the  river. 

The  glory  of  the  sunsets  charms  when  the  shadows  in  the  hills 
turn  to  deeper  violet,  the  rocks  burn  like  gold  and  the  great 
yellow  Theban  hills  are  bronzed  against  the  sky  as  the  sun  dips 
behind  the  distant  hills.  Then  almost  instantly  the  scene 
changes,  for  there  are  no  lengthy  twilights  here.  The  glow  fades, 
and  the  stars  come  out  brighter  than  I  have  ever  seen  them  else- 
where it  seems  to  me. 

It  is  all  beautiful  and  tranquil.  There  are  subtle  gradations 
of  tones  and  shades.  Only  once  did  I  see  flame-colored  clouds  or 
anything  approaching  the  gorgeous  colorings  one  sees  in  countries 
where  there  are  showers  and  accessories  of  cloud  and  vapor.  The 
atmosphere  is  too  dry  in  Egypt. 

I  have  progressed  but  slowly  in  our  upward  journey.  Abydos 
came  next,  buried  under  its  mounds,  and  dating  to  a  period  so  re- 
mote that  there  is  little  to  guide  archaeologists.  Here  King 
Menes,  who  is  first  in  the  list  of  Egyptian  Pharaohs,  was  born 
This  was  once  a  very  important  city  and  was  revered,  for  here 
Osiris  was  buried.  Here,  too,  are  the  Temples  of  Sethos  and 
Rameses,  regarded  as  being  among  the  most  beautiful  of  Egyp- 
tian ruins.  There  are  sanctuaries,  pillars,  halls,  corridors  and 
columns  of  alabaster,  porphyry  and  sandstone.  All  the  gods  the 
Egyptians  ever  worshiped  seemed  to  be  carved  upon  the  walls, 
which  were  bright  with  that  wonderful  coloring  which  is  so  mar- 
velous, in  that  it  is  as  fresh  as  if  newly  put  on,  though  exposed 
in  many  places  to  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun.  Kings  are  rep- 
resented as  bowing  before  some  strange  god,  such  as  crocodiles, 
frogs,  dogs,  double-headed  geese,  and  too  many  others  to  remem- 
ber.    Of  the  offerings  l)rought  the  kings,  among  necklaces,  orna- 


Egypt.  177 

ments,  and  incense,  was  an  offering  of  salve  for  the  eyes.  Evi- 
dently, kings  were  not  exempt,  but,  like  the  people  of  to-day,  felt 
the  ill  effects  of  the  flies  in  Egypt.  These  temples  are  eight  miles 
from  the  river,  and  this  was  our  longest  ride.  It  was  not  tire- 
some, for  the  donkeys  cantered  at  a  very  easy  pace,  and  were  good 
enough  when  the  boys  let  then  alone.  But  an  Arab  boy  is  not 
happy  unless  he  is  twisting  the  tail  or  beating  the  poor  beast; 
yelling  and  saying  all  sorts  of  things  to  keep  in  practice.  The 
donkeys  do  not  seem  to  mind  it. 

We  rode  over  the  ancient  plain  of  Thinis,  which  is  like  some 
of  our  vast  green  fields.  The  beans  and  bearded  barley 
were  high  as  the  donkeys.  The  plain  is  more  than  six  miles 
wide  on  this  side  of  the  Nile,  and  more  prosperous  than  any  other 
section  I  have  seen. 

The  wind  was  warm  and  sweet  over  the  undulating  fields. 
There  were  the  huts  built  of  the  stalks  of  the  corn.  Sheep  and 
goats,  tethered,  were  feeding  on  the  fragrant  clover.  Long  strings 
of  camels,  with  gawky  necks  and  humped  backs,  were  going  along 
unseen  paths,  undulating  above  the  surface  of  the  grain  like  ships 
upon  a  sea  of  green.  Birds  were  singing  in  the  air.  Bare- 
legged brown  men  were  in  the  fields  at  work.  A  sheik,  the  owner 
of  the  fields  probably,  rode  by  us,  like  Boaz  among  his  people — 
only  it  is  scarcely  time  for  reaping  yet,  and  the  Ruths  were  at 
home  or  carrying  the  water.  The  people  and  the  herds  go  on  the 
same  round  they  did  thousands  of  years  ago.  That  which  we  see 
depicted  on  the  walls  of  tombs  forty  centuries  ago  we  see  now  in 
the  moving  life  about  us.  And  as  of  old,  when  Moses  heard  the 
Voice  amid  the  flame  telling  him  to  go  to  the  land  of  the 
Pharaohs,  as  he  went  from  Horeb's  mountain,  so  we  went  down 
the  sloping  hills  over  the  level  valley  and  the  voice  speaking  to 
us  was  the  steamer's  whistle.  The  blue,  misty  smoke  hovering 
in  the  distance  might  have  been  a  wreath  left  of  the  pillar  of  fire 
that  guided  the  wandering  Children  of  Israel  as  it  guided  us  to 
the  river,  and  we,  too,  went  on. 

The  navigation  companies,  the  successors  of  the  Pharaohs  on 
the  Nile  certainly  make  it  charming  and  delightful  for  all  who 
travel  with  them.  It  would  astonish  old  Rameses  lying  placidly 
in  the  Boulak  Museum,  if  he  could  awaken  and  take  a  trip  up 
the  river,  with  its  luxury,  comfort,  ease,  and    good  living.     In 


178  A  Woman's  Wanderin(;s. 

fact,  all  that  could  1)6  desired  in  the  way  of  efficient  service  was 
ours. 

The  Nubian  servants  who  waited  on  us  at  table  in  their  (quaint 
garb,  red  fezzes,  and  red  shoes,  were  quick,  alert,  silent,  and  re- 
spectful. I  wish  there  were  more  like  them  in  the  world  of 
hotels.  The  crew,  who  put  down  the  awnings  at  night,  trans- 
forming the  ])oat  into  a  cozy,  canvas-tent  sort  of  arrangement, 
thus  protecting  us  from  cold  winds,  did  the  work  well  mornings 
and  evenings,  putting  them  up  or  down,  washing  decks,  going 
about  noiseless  as  cats  —  were  astonisning  to  me.  In  landing, 
taking  up  or  putting  out  the  anchor,  they  had  such  a  musical 
chant,  it  was  pleasant  to  listen  to  them.  They  call  upon  "Allah" 
in  all  their  work.  Their  chant  of  "  Yalla  Yassalim  "  ("heave 
away,  you're  safe")  as  they  tug  at  the  ropes,  in  soft  melodious 
voices  seems  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  time,  and  the  river,  where 
everything  is  harmonious  and  quiet. 

There  are  no  jarring  discords,  except  at  landing-places,  when 
some  excursion  is  to  be  made  and  dozens  of  donkey-boys  crowd 
and  jabber.  It  is  a  change  and  amuses  us.  Our  dragoman,  a 
large  fellow,  goes  among  the  crowd  and  makes  his  selection,  lash- 
ing men  and  beasts  unmercifully  —  beats  them,  tumbles  them 
over  the  bank  of  the  river,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  They  are  up 
and  back  like  swarms  of  flies.  It  gives  variety  to  the  voyage, 
though  that  is  never  lacking  in  this  country,  which,  with  all  its 
charms,  is  odd  and  unique. 

Everything  seems  to  go  by  contraries- here.  The  people  write 
from  right  to  left.  The  daughters  make  provision  for  their  par- 
ents. Here,  men  and  lieasts  live  together.  I  saw  men  spinning 
and  weaving  and  attending  to  the  laundry  business.  The  women 
may  not  ])e  hewers  of  wood,  for  there  is  no  wood  to  hew,  but  the)^ 
certainly  attend  to  drawing  or  ladling  the  water  from  the  river. 

One  of  the  donkey-boys  said:  "I  am  sorry  I  can't  make  much 
money.  If  I  could,  my  wife  would  not  have  to  carry  water  on 
her  head."  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that  between  times 
he  might  take  a  turn  at  it  himself. 

The  men  and  boys  usually  carry  the  pigskins  filled  with  water 
to  what  might  be  termed  the  public  fountains,  which  are  large 
jars  that  answer  the  pvu'pose.  I  saw  some  of  these  with  cups 
attaclied,  near  a  Coi)tic  schooh     The  children  may  drink,  Init  I  am 


Egypt.  181 

sure  they  never  think  of  washing.  I  have  seen  the  men  wash 
hefore  praying.     What  the  women  and  children  do  I  cannot  tell. 

The  cliildren  learn  to  read  a  little,  and  write  on  slates  made 
from  pieces  of  tin  cans,  but  are  never  so  l)usy  or  so  afraid  of  their 
teachers  that  they  will  not  sto])  and  cry,  "  Backsheesh." 

But  this  is  a  country  of  sur})rises,  there  is  so  much  of  the  old 
and  odd.  There  are  such  startling  contrasts  and  grotesque  results 
as  nowhere  else  could  be  seen  outside  the  fellaheen  of  Egypt.  It 
is  hard  to  designate  or  explain  unless  more  time  w^re  given  than 
I  have  to  devote. 

The  growing  needs  of  the  day  irk  not  the  mind  of  the  })easant. 
They  are  content  with  little  knowledge,  and  their  l)read,  leeks, 
and  lentils.  The  whole  world  may  turn  topsy-turvy,  but  if  the 
Nile  only  rises  to  the  desired  level,  there  seems  to  ])e  nothing 
else  to  wish  for. 

Each  day  l)rings  changes  and  something  new,  as  Egypt  and 
dullness  are  incompatible.  It  has  an  ineradicable  charm.  It  is 
never  commonplace  as  we  go  on,  for  there  is  undying  romance  on 
everv  hand.  This  river,  historical  and  mysterious,  stretches 
from  the  Mediterranean  Sea  to  the  very  heart  of  Africa,  beginning 
in  Victoria  Nyanza  and  flowing  three  thousand  miles  till  it  is 
lost  in  the  lilue  sea  at  Alexandria. 

We  stop  at  the  sand-drifted  temples  of  Denderah,  after  passing 
the  fruitful  soil,  breathing  fragrant  breezes  that  come  warm  and 
palpitating  from  the  fields,  then  on  and  across  the  dry  sands 
until  the  temples  built  on  the  barren  cliffs  are  reached.  What 
had  fruitful  lands,  telegraph  wires,  and  signs  of  life  and  civiliza- 
tion to  do  with  this,  the  shrine  of  Hathor,  the  woman  creator,  the 
nurse  of  Horns?  We  are  here  in  the  haunts  of  Osiris,  of  Sesos- 
tris,  of  Cambyses.  Unspeakal>le  mystery  of  temples !  Men  who 
were  learned  built,  planned,  and  carved  these  wonderful  majestic 
ruins  long  before  the  Infant  foretold  had  been  born.  All  the 
older  arts  are  here  —  sculpture,  painting,  design,  wonderful  carv- 
ing, etc.  What  music  has  lieen  heard  within  these  grand  temples! 
Mirth,  gayety,  sorrow,  love,  and  joy  have  been  heard,  seen,  and 
felt,  before  the  Pyramids  were,  or  the  Sphinx  was  thought  of. 
The  gods  held  high  carnival  in  the  superb  temples  of  Hathor. 
Much  of  their  life  is  depicted  on  the  walls,  with  its  tombs  and 
prehistoric  tombs  back  of  it.     Isis  and  Horus  bind  the  links  of 


182  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

history  of  Moses  and  Him  who  died  for  us.  Hathor,  to  whom 
kings  bowed  down  with  offerings  and  prayers,  represented  all  that 
was  good  and  beautiful,  the  eternal  youth  of  Nature,  was  also  the 
Goddess  of  Truth. 

But  we  hurry  on  through  these  corridors  and  sanctuaries  with 
the  wealth  of  surface  sculpture,  elaborate  paintings,  of  zodiacal 
emblems,  winged  globes,  and  the  omnipresent  wavy  lines  repre- 
senting the  Nile  —  the  key  of  life.  Lotus,  lilies,  and  scarabii  are 
waveringly  intermingled  with  everything  that  the  ancients  cut, 
carved,  or  painted.     How  they  loved  the  lotus  plants  and  blooms! 

How  they  revered  the  scarab — the  little  black  beetle  —  as  an 
emblem  of  creative  and  preserving  power,  with  its  provident 
nature  in  laying  eggs,  inclosing  them  in  a  ball  of  mud  and  rolling 
it  to  some  safe,  dry  spot  in  the  warm  sands,  where  the  young 
might  hatch  and  be  protected  from  harm.  Its  untiring  energy 
and  muscular  strength  impressed  these  children  of  Nature,  for  in 
its  workings  they  saw  not  only  creative  and  preservative  power, 
but  it  was  emblematic  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

Among  the  few  bas-reliefs  that  are  perfect  was  one  of  Cleopa- 
tra. How  it  has  escaped  the  spoiler's  chisel  is  probably  due  to 
the  fact  that  it  has  but  recently  been  uncovered,  being  on  the 
external  wall.  The  Persians  overthrew  the  best  work  of  the 
Pharaohs.  The  Copts,  with  chisel  and  hammer,  hacked  away 
the  faces  of  nearly  all  the  figures  within  reach.  The  temples  of 
the  Ptolomies  and  Caesars  were  mutilated.  The  Pyramids  were 
stripped  and  Memphis  destroyed  by  Arabs.  In  no  other  country 
has  man  admired  more  and  destroyed  more  than  in  Egypt.  For 
her  the  world's  greatest  temples  were  built,  and  Time  has  not 
wrought  the  ruin  that  men  have.  They  have  sacked,  plundered, 
desecrated,  and  stolen  from  sanctuaries  the  dead. 

And  so  from  Denderah,  and  the  wind-blown  dust  of  kings  and 
queens,  under  cloudless,  glowing  skies  we  go  until  we  arrive  at 
Luxor.  Thebes!  Karnak!  The  tombs  of  the  kings  and  the 
Memnonium!  I  had  read  so  much  and  dreamed  of  these  places 
for  years  that  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  all  dreams;  the  wide 
river;  queer  lines  of  palms  and  waving  grain;  the  far-away  ter- 
raced mountains,  and  rock-cut  tombs.  Then  the  boat  anchors 
and  there  are  mighty  columns  on  the  bank  above  us.  The  white, 
houses   of  different   consuls,    with  flags  and  ensigns,    greet   us 


Egypt.  183 

There  are  some  good-looking  hotels  along  the  steep,  sandy  shore 
The  bahel  of  voices,  the  hurrying  ashore,  make  us  feel  we  are  in 
touch  with  the  world  once  more. 

It  was  good  to  have  papers  and  letters  from  home  at  Luxor, 
to  have  cards  and  "  Greetings  from  over  the  sea."  And  we  were 
glad  and  hajtpy  to  forget  the  old  for  a  time  and  read  the  news 
from  home. 

Luxor  is  now  only  a  modern  Arab  village,  but  it  occupies  the 
site  of  one  of  the  oldest  parts  of  the  ruins  of  Thebes,  which  at 
one  time  occupied  both  sides  of  the  river,  extending  for  miles 
along  the  Nile.  Here  was  the  great  central  place  of  Egyptian 
art. 

Karnak  lies  two  miles  from  the  town.  It  is  not  possible  to 
give  a  clear  idea  of  the  ruin,  the  largest  and  most  wonderful  of 
all  in  Egypt,  or  in  the  world,  for  that  matter.  It  has  often  been 
said  that  the  work  in  design  and  execution  is  the  noblest  ever 
done  by  human  hands.  I  can  only  say  that  the  columns  here 
and  in  the  Luxor  ruins  reminded  me  of  our  sequoias  in  number 
and  immensity.  Their  height  and  size  can  best  be  understood 
by  the  comparison  with  them  in  majesty  and  beauty.  These 
walls  and  columns  are  incomparable.  We  may  laugh  at  some 
of  the  absurdities  of  the  past  age,  but  when  one  stands  amid 
such  grand  works  as  these  we  feel  that  there  were  men  of  giant 
intellect  in  those  days.  The  wonder  of  the  work  is  awe-inspiring, 
those  massive  stones,  weighing  tons  and  tons,  placed  on  columns 
and  pylons  which  rise  to  a  height  of  one  hundred  feet. 

The  immense  obelisks  were  raised,  lifted,  and  put  in  place;  and 
no  machinery,  wood  or  iron,  used  in  those  days  could  have  done 
it.  It  must  have  been,  as  our  guide  said,  by  piling  up  sand 
around  the  columns  and  filling  in  temples  until  the  top  was 
reached.  The  great  blocks  that  roofed  them  were  easily  moved 
on  the  sands,  which  were  carried  away  when  all  was  finished. 
A  large  column  which  fell  last  year  is  being  put  in  place  now  in 
that  manner.  The  sand  is  piled  around  as  each  section  is  placed 
by  boys  carrying  it  in  baskets  on  their  heads.  It  was  a  novel  sight 
to  see  about  three  hundred  of  them  chanting  "Allah,"  clapping 
their  hands  as  they  went  in  line  like  so  many  ants,  careless,  joy- 
ous, and  working  all  day  for  one  piastre  each,  which  is  sufficient 
for  their  slender  wants. 


184  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

We  saw  these  temples  by  day,  under  the  tremulous  beauty  of 
the  afternoon's  sun,  and  I  saw  them,  too,  in  the  glory  of  a  night 
when  the  moon  silvered  the  columns  —  massive  and  awful — rest- 
ing on  the  desert  sands  —  these  examples  of  men's  creative  power 
and  vanity;  these  blocks  of  stone  and  cement,  mixed  with  the 
sweat  and  blood  of  slaves.  I  saw  them  again  in  the  solemn  moon- 
light, which  flooded  the  images  of  their  manifold  gods,  the 
brightly  painted  walls,  columns,  and  arches,  on  the  upturned  faces 
of  the  Sphinx  guarding  the  avenue.  The  long  line  of  crouching, 
expectant  figures  were  there,  waiting,  watching,  in  weird  silence, 
as  they  did  when  the  gods  and  goddesses  walked  by  the  river  and 
went  boating  moonlit  nights  on  the  smooth  waters  that  knew  the 
fierce  love  of  Cleopatra's  daring  soul.  The  wind  sighs  through 
the  temples,  which  are  terrible  and  awful  in  their  fascinating 
mystery,  woven  and  interwoven  with  strange  hierogl>^phics. 
The  mellowed  rays  strike  sculptured  faces  tenderly  and  softly, 
as  they  did  thousands  of  summers  ago,  when  the  mighty  rulers 
gave  mirth,  life,  and  soul  to  these  halls,  where  priests  gave  offer- 
ings to  Isis,  Osiris,  and  their  son  Horus.  There  was  something 
practical  as  well  as  fanciful  in  their  religion;  for  their  gods  and 
goddesses  married  and  bore  children. 

One  day  we  crossed  the  river  in  small  boats.  The  water  being 
too  shallow  to  get  close  to  land,  the  Arabs  waded  in  and  carried 
us  ashore,  to  where  the  donkeys  were  in  waiting  to  carry  us  to  the 
tombs  of  the  kings.  There  were  great  fun  and  much  laughter 
among  us.  Our  one  old  maid  could  scarcely  l)e  induced  to  put 
her  arms  around  the  neck  of  an  Arab  in  going.  In  coming  back 
it  was  different.  When  she  was  seated  on  the  arms  of  the  two 
bronzed  athletes  she  seemed  so  content  that  she  asked  them  not 
to  hurry.  One  young  lady  went  so  willingly  and  quickly  to  the 
outstretched  arms  that  she  missed  the  mark  and  slipped  into  the 
water.     A  trifle  or  two  like  that  only  made  it  all  the  merrier. 

We  were  beginning  to  like  the  donkey-rides  very  much,  and 
the  long  day  we  had  rather  dreaded  was  cool,  a  sort  of  haze  over- 
spreading the  sky.  It  was  fortunate,  for  the  thermometer  often 
rises  to  one  hundred  degrees  here  in  Januar}'.  We  went  for 
miles  over  the  most  desolate  regions  yet  seen,  the  donkey-lioys, 
running  ))eside  the  l)easts,  careful  and  watchful  in  needless  ways, 
but  paving  the   way  for  the  coveted  piastres   were  constantly 


EciYPT.  187 

repeating  to  eaeh  otlier  and  the  donkeys  the  one  sentence  "  Ooha 
reglah."  I  learned  the  words  hefore  I  knew  the  meaning,  which 
is,  "  Look  out  for  your  toes."  In  a  country  where  the  minority 
alone  wear  coverings  for  the  feet,  it  is  (juite  necessary  to  give  the 
word  of  caution,  and  means  for  men  and  animals  be  wary. 
"  Steady  reglah  "  became  my  words  of  caution  to  the  poor  httle 
donkeys,  and  they  knew  and  were  very  careful  indeed  of  their 
steps.  Our  route  lay  through  the  mountains,  the  Libyan  hills,  in 
which  the  old  kings  burrowed  like  miners  for  treasures,  building 
vast  halls  and  corridors,  and  decorating  them  in  the  most  cheer- 
ful manner. 

They  were  fond  of  life,  and  wished  to  carry  with  them  to  the 
grave,  if  not  beyond,  as  much  of  the  pleasures  as  possible,  so 
they  decorated  the  walls  of  their  tombs  with  pictures  and  sculp- 
tures, hoping  the  mummy  might  derive  some  comfort  from  its 
surroundings.  Others  were  covered  with  scenes  from  the  life  to 
come,  as  they  imagined  it. 

It  was  strange  going  down  into  those  great  sepulchers,  in 
stifling  heat  and  utter  darkness,  where  were  yawning  chasms  and 
shafts.  A  stone  thrown  into  one  of  these  rattled  down  that 
black  incline  hundreds  of  feet,  it  seemed;  yet  it  had  been  explored, 
and  the  king  who  thought  he  would  be  safe  until  the  time  allotted 
for  the  resurrection  of  the  body  is  now  doing  duty  in  some  mu- 
seum. 

They  believed  happiness  and  peace  depended  on  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  body,  the  habitation  of  the  soul,  so  they  dug  deep  in 
earth's  bosom  and  made  and  decorated  these  vast  vaulted  cham- 
bers. The  lives  of  slaves  counted  not,  if  only  the  kings  were 
saved.  There  are  some  twenty-four  of  these  vast,  imperishable 
tombs  in  the  hills,  but  empty  chambers,  rifled  and  plundered 
sarcophagi,  attest  the  truth  that  there  is  a  reckoning  in  this 
world.  They  cared  not  for  the  lives  of  millions  of  slaves  who 
labored  on  these  stupendous  tombs.  Eternal  laws  have  righted 
things.  They  rest  not  in  the  vaults  awaiting  the  resurrection 
expected.  The  mummies  are  scattered  over  the  world,  the  beau- 
tifully ornamented  tombs  are  vacant,  and  their  bodies  taken 
away.  Everything  valuable  and  that  which  they  most  prized 
have  vanished.  The  tombs  are  vacant,  plundered,  and  desolate. 
Have  their  souls,  which  are  supposed  to  return  after  a  thousand 


188  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

years,  come  here  again  and  again  in  search  of  their  })odies?  Are 
they  still  vainly  seeking  the  lost  receptacles?  Is  it  their  voices, 
weird  and  unearthly,  which  cry  out  in  the  calm  nights  among 
these  desolate  sands  and  long,  silent,  desecrated  corridors?  Do 
they  return  and  keep  vigil  over  the  places  they  loved,  to  mourn 
and  grieve  and  weep?  So  the  Arabs  Ijelieve;  and  yet,  believing, 
they  do  not  hesitate  to  desecrate  the  tombs,  or  sell  detached  liits 
of  mummied  forms  to  strangers  for  a  pittance. 

All  day  we  wandered  from  one  mighty  monument  to  another. 
A  huge  camel  had  brought  provisions,  and  we  lunched  at  the 
entrance  of  some  king's  tomb  of  the  nineteenth  and  twentieth 
dynasties.  We  ate  and  made  merry  where  these  hieroglyphic 
walls  tell  the  story  of  the  Rameses. 

The  sunlight  slept  upon  the  sands.  No  ])reath  of  wind  touched 
the  graceful  palm  branches,  but  all  was  silent  and  still  as  we 
went  back  down  the  slopes,  past  the  colossal  statues  of  the  Mem- 
nonium.  The  mutilated  statues  are  well  known  as  the  Sphinx. 
One  of  these  was  the  musical  Memnon,  for  tradition  said  that 
strange,  sweet  sounds  came  from  that  grand,  solemn  figure  when 
the  sun's  first  rays  awoke  the  sleeping  world.  For  three  thou- 
sand years  they  have  sat  as  sentries  and  watched  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  the  river,  the  sands  that  blossomed  as  by  magic  when  the 
water  came,  and  grew  lifeless  as  they  when  the  moisture  evapo- 
rated. 

Life  is  made  up  of  incongruities  in  Egypt.  The  next  day  we 
were  buying  scarabs  and  antiques,  looking  in  quaint  bazaars,  hag- 
gling with  the  Arabs,  who  get  disheartened  when  they  cannot 
cheat  you,  and  then  will  pretend  j'ou  may  make  your  own  })rice. 

We  attended  some  races,  which  were  odd  and  funny,  a  change 
after  so  many  tombs  and  mummies.  There  were  entered  for  the 
races  horses,  donkeys,  camels,  and  buffaloes,  the  last  being  the 
most  comical  and  unmanageable.  They  were  started  at  a  full 
run,  the  riders  vaulting  on  theii  backs  as  they  sped  by.  There 
were  many  laughable  incidents  and  rough  tumbles,  l)ut  these 
fellaheen  are  as  as  active  as  monkeys  and  not  easily  hurt. 

From  Luxor  to  Assouan  we  pass  Erment,  the  ruined  temple 
erected  by  Cleopatra.  Then  came  Edfou  and  the  mountains  of 
Silsileh,  where  were  the  quarries  from  whence  much  of  the  stone 
was  taken  for  the  temples. 


Egypt.  189 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  twelfth  day  we  cast  anchor  at  Elephan- 
tine Island,  Assouan,  and  we  knew  our  journey  farther  south  by 
boat  was  ended,  for  we  are  at  the  foot  of  the  first  cataract  and 
nearly  six  hundred  miles  up  the  river.  The  excursions  from  here 
were  varied  and  full  of  interest.  This  place  until  recently  was 
an  important  center,  to  which  the  products  of  Abyssinia  and  Up- 
per Egypt  were  brought  by  caravans  for  transmission  to  Lower 
Egypt,  as  it  also  was  the  principal  market  for  merchandise  from 
the  Soudan. 

We  rode  to  the  quarries,  where  is  a  huge  obelisk  nearly  finished, 
which  would  have  been  the  largest  ever  cut.  We  saw  the  little 
grooves  in  which  they  inserted  wood,  wetting  it  until  it  swelled 
and  split  the  rock. 

We  went  on  to  Philse,  the  island  which  is  above  the  first  cata- 
ract. Here  is  the  most  beavitiful  scenery  on  the  river  Nile. 
Here  is  the  unrivaled  Temple  of  Isis,  among  the  many  covering 
the  island.  We  lunched  in  the  temple  called  Pharoah's  Bed. 
Then  we  drifted  from  thoughts  of  the  past  to  the  present. 

I  saw  one  of  the  striking  sights  of  the  voyage — nude  men  and 
boys  shooting  the  rapids  on  logs  of  wood.  These  Nubians  dive 
and  ride  at  the  risk  of  their  lives  for  a  few  piastres.  Our  don- 
keys were  sent  back  over  the  six  miles  of  desert.  We  got  in  a 
boat  manned  by  twelve  men  and  went  down  those  rapids  also. 
It  was  very  exciting  and  a  trifle  dangerous,  as  the  boat  was 
crowded.  The  waves  dashed  in  once,  drenching  us,  but  there 
was  no  further  harm.  We  floated  down  the  stream,  away  from 
the  Holy  Island,  that  was  to  the  ancients  what  Mecca  is  to  the 
pilgrims  of  to-day. 

The  mysteries  of  Isis  and  Osiris  gave  way  at  last,  for  a  day 
came  when  Christianity  conquered  and  the  Cross  was  triumphant. 
But  there  are  no  prayers  there  now.  A  few  dim  crosses  stand 
besides  the  old  hieroglyphics.  The  gods  are  avenged,  for  nothing 
but  desolation  reigns  in  these  l)roken  walls  and  vaulted  chambers. 
Christianity,  faltering  in  Egypt,  is  unknown  in  Nubia.  The 
melancholy  beauty  of  the  surroundings,  the  pathos  of  the  de- 
serted temples,  appeal  to  the  traveler  Besides  these,  none  other 
go  there  to  muse  over  the  changes  the  cycles  of  years  have  brought. 

We  visited  the  great  dam  which,  when  finished,  will  bring  un- 
told benefit  to  the  country.     The  work  will  cost  millions  of  dol- 


190  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

lars,  but  the  river  will  l>e  curbed  and  the  water  measured  out  as 
desired. 

We  leave  and  go  swiftly  V»y  islands  and  glistening  l)oulders  of 
red  porphyry.  I  see  the  sun  glint  on  Phila?'s  mystic  tem})les. 
We  leave  the  land  of  the  Bisharins  and  Nubians.  The  moun- 
tains gleam,  rugged  and  purple,  against  the  opal-tinted  sky. 
The  wonderful  afterglow,  which  is  so  beautiful  on  the  Nile,  fades 
into  cold  gray  shades.  Then  we  reach  the  boat  and  Assouan. 
The  two  days  there  were  very  interesting. 

The  people  were  of  another  type  than  in  Egypt.  The  Nubians 
are  black  or  mahogany  shades,  wear  rings  in  the  top  part  of  the 
ear,  and  often  in  the  nose  also.  Then  there  were  the  Bisharins, 
who  are  the  most  fantastic  race  of  people  I  have  ever  seen;  brown, 
with  glistening  eyes  and  teeth,  hair  long  and  bushy.  Some 
daubed  their  locks  with  castor  oil.  They  use  it  abundantly,  then 
put  a  sort  of  red  earth  on,  tipping  it  with  some  white  material. 
They  were  about  the  boat,  selling  strange,  villainous  arms  and 
implements  of  war,  many  of  them  from  the  Soudan,  that  set  some 
of  our  relic-hunters  wild. 

Assouan,  is  like  all  the  towns,  a  difference  in  the  manu- 
factories only.  There  are  the  same  throng  of  insistent 
sellers,  and  the  bazaars  are  much  the  same.  There  are 
some  fine  hotels,  and  remnants  of  Roman  quays.  There  is  a 
dilapidated  gateway  of  Alexander,  and  a  much-defaced  statue  of 
the  Pharaoh  —  about  all  there  is  left  of  him  anywhere,  since  his 
disappearance  in  the  Red  Sea. 

Then  we  turned  our  faces  and  boat  northward  to  the  l)lue  sea, 
some  800  miles  away.  We  sailed  for  days  past  lakes  and  villages, 
prophyry  mountains  and  quarries  of  all  kinds,  groves  and  gar- 
dens, mosques  and  temples,  down  the  gleaming  river  that  knew 
Csesar,  Anthony,  and  Napoleon,  changed  but  little  since  they  saw 
and  knew  them.  We  are  now  enjoying  Memphis,  Heliopolis, 
the  Pyramids,  and  palms.  We  have  come  back  from  a  land  of 
bewildering  dreams,  where  we  have  wandered  for  twenty-two 
days,  one  of  the  strangest  yet  most  satisfactory  journeys  of  my 
life. 

It  is  hard  to  wake  up,  but  rather  pleasant  to  be  in  Cairo  again, 
to  return  to  something  familiar;  to  the  splendors  of  modern  Egyi)t; 
to  drive  on   the  lovely  Shoobra  road;    to  see  the  gardens   and 


Palestine.  lUl 

billowy  masses  of  red  and  yellow  bloom  waving  over  bigh  walls; 
the  closely  barred  windows  of  the  harems;  the  unceasing  flow  of 
strange  life  around  us. 

I  leave  this  land  of  the  lotus,  of  silent,  trackless  deserts,  and 
all  the  solemn  monuments  of  a  past.  The  waters  of  the  river 
that  will  shine  in  memory  as  it  glints  l\v  Thebes,  Karnak,  Den- 
derah,  dream-places  on  the  measureless  desert.  The  recollections 
of  the  old  river  will  be  sweet  to  me  as  the  draught  of  water  "  the 
exile  drinks  in  his  dreams."  I  know  the  Pyramids,  the  tall 
palms,  silent  tents,  and  tethered  camels  will  shine  like  stars  in 
my  memory,  and  will,  in  days  to  come,  draw  me  as  the  moon 
does  the  sea,  irresistibl}'  to  this  strange  soul-inspiring  and  restful 
land. 


PALESTINE. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  we  arose  early  one  morning  and  took 
our  way  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt.  Leaving  Cairo  and  the  dim, 
distant  Pyramids,  we  went  through  rich,  fertile  lands  until  we 
reached  Ismalia  and  the  Suez  Canal,  where  we  saw  great  ships 
going  slowly  eastward  along  that  wonderful  strip  of  water.  Then, 
when  the  day  was  ended,  we  reached  Port  Said,  alleged  to  be  the 
dirtiest  and  wickedest  city  of  its  size.  I  was  hurried  through  it 
with  scarcely  a  glance  at  the  dimly  lighted  streets  —  and  was  on 
board  a  boat  almost  before  I  knew  how  it  was  done.  It  was  a 
novel  experience  for  me,  for  I  had  been  used  to  planning  and 
looking  out  for  all  details  of  traveling  so  long,  that  it  was  odd, 
but  comforting,  to  know  that  for  days  to  come  I  was  to  have  no 
thought,  care,  or  worry. 

A  dragoman  is  an  absolute  necessity  in  the  Orient,  and  I  was 
very  fortunate  in  securing  one  of  the  very  best  for  my  trip 
through  the  Holy  Land  and  Syria.  Thoroughly  educated,  in- 
telligent, and  watchful,  I  found  him  ever  on  the  alert,  and  ready 
to  anticipate  every  wish.  No  anxious  thoughts  disturbed  my 
slumbers  that  night  as  the  steamer  went  on  over  the  quiet 
Mediterranean. 


11)2 


A   ^^'oMA^■'s  Wanderings. 


At  the  morning's  dawn  we  anchored  at  Jaffa,  or  ancient  Joppa. 
Fortunately  for  us,  the  sea  was  quiet  and  smooth,  as  it  often  hap- 
pens that  the  water  is  so  rough  that  passengers  cannot  land. 
We  were  tossed  from  the  ship  into  strong  arms,  placed  in  small 
boats,  then  trusty  rowers  took  us  through  some  jagged,  ugly 
looking  rocks  where  the  surf  broke  heavily.  An  opening  or  two 
admits  the  small  boats  through  the  dangerous  reef  into  Jonah's 


JONAH'S    BAY    AT   JAFFA. 


Bay,  where  Jonah  had  his  adventure  with  the  whale,  which,  for 
the  first  and  last  time  in  fish  history,  became  sick,  and  refused 
to  retain  contraband  goods. 

A  rock  among  the  reefs  is  shown  as  the  identical  one  on  which 
Andromeda  was  chained.  Perseus  and  the  sea-monster  —  how 
the  old  myths  come  vividly  to  my  mind,  possible  and  plausible, 
as  I  looked  up  at  the  old  walled  city. 

Joppa  was  in  the  days  of  Solomon  as  it  now  is,  a  port  for  Jeru- 
salem. As  far  back  as  the  building  of  the  Temple,  timbers  were 
sent  here  from  Lebanon  by  the  King  of  Tyre.  Old  as  it  is,  there 
is    much    that  is    not    mythical    about  this  ancient    city.      The 


Palestine.  193 

Romans  were  in  evidence  here  —  Cest ins  destroyed  it,  and  after 
a  rehearing,  Vespasian  took  a  turn  at  it.  The  Crusaders  and 
Richard  Coeur-de-Lion  were  all  interested  in  various  ways. 
Napoleon  also  swerved  from  his  outlined  i)ath  of  duty  in  war- 
ring with  the  world  generally,  and  in  his  great  and  generous 
way  had  the  plague-stricken  patients  poisoned.  Not  mine  the 
right,  however,  to  question  anything,  either  stories  or  traditions. 

There  is  hut  little  of  interest  in  Jaffa,  though  the  situation  is 
fine.  It  is  high  ahove  the  sea  and  almost  smothered  in  groves  of 
orange  trees.  We  were  shown  the  house  of  Simon  the  tanner; 
the  remains  of  the  ancient  walls  of  Joppa,  and  the  sepulcher  and 
house  of  Dorcas.  From  a  tower  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  plain 
of  Sharon,  with  Carmel  on  the  north,  the  hills  of  Judea  to  the 
east,  and  the  plain  extending  along  the  seaboard  between  Jaffa 
and  Csesarea,  in  green,  fertile,  and  undulating  lines,  lovely  and 
refreshing  after  so  much  desert  life  in  Egypt. 

We  left  in  the  afternoon,  on  the  one  daily  train  going  from 
Jaffa  to  Jerusalem,  passing  Ramleh  and  Lydda,  the  ancient  Leod. 
There  were  leagues  of  plain.  Fragrant,  wandering  winds  came 
into  the  car  windows  from  the  blossoming  almond  trees.  Among 
the  fields  of  barley  and  clover  in  ravines  or  on  rocky  slopes  were 
sheets  of  flame-colored  anemones,  or  rose  of  Sharon  blossoms, 
making  great  splashes  of  color  under  a  warm  sun  and  glowing 
deep-blue  sky. 

From  the  historical  plain  of  Sharon  we  went  up  over  the  bare, 
rocky  hills  of  Judea,  creeping  slowly  along  over  a  region  that 
would  be  monotonous  were  it  not  for  the  fascinating  mystery  of 
these  hills,  for  it  is  arid,  rocky,  devoid  of  grass  or  shrubbery  of 
any  sort,  except  now  and  then  a  few  wild  olive  trees  grow  in  the 
ravines.  Every  mile  seemed  only  to  increase  the  interest.  We 
saw  Samson's  cave,  high  up  on  a  cliff,  where  the  first  female  bar- 
ber did  her  historical  act.  Bitter  where  so  many  thousands  were 
slain.  Philip's  fountain  and  plain  of  Rephaim,  where  David 
and  the  Philistines  met,  came  next,  and  then  came  Jerusalem. 

I  am  sure  no  one  could  definitely  analyze  the  feelings  or  sensa- 
tions produced  when  the  Holy  City  bursts  upon  the  vision.  Be- 
fore I  had  time  to  think  clearly  or  give  a  second  glance  at  the 
rounded  domes  and  towers,  we  were  at  the  station,  amid  a  babel 
of  voices  —  rushing  and  shouting  men;  a  conglomeration  of  color, 


194  A  Woman's  Wandehincs. 

languages,  and  races,  strangely  crossing  and  recrossing  in  vivid 
confusion  that  seemed  incongruous,  for  somehow  I  had  not  as- 
sociated the  Holy  City  with  modern  trains,  stations,  or  the  sono- 
rous whistle  of  a  deep-toned  engine  from  Pennsylvania.  I  had 
pictured  smooth  roads  and  great  white  camels,  deserts  and  lonely 
mountains.  But  we  had  crossed  fertile  plains,  climbed  the  hills 
in  the  most  comfortable  of  coaches,  on  a  narrow-gauge  road  com- 
ing in  by  the  Jaffa  gate  in  the  most  prosaic  style. 

Few  places  in  this  world.  I  fancy,  are  as  one  imagines.  Yet, 
while  so  unlike  my  mental  pictures,  I  can  safely  say  that  in  no 
wise  was  I  disappointed  in  all  of  Palestine.  There  was  not  the 
monotony  I  expected  in  the  country.  The  changing,  motley 
throngs  of  people;  the  shepherds  guarding  their  flocks,  ragged 
and  picturesque,  in  sheepskin  coats,  playing  plaintive  melodies 
on  reed  instruments,  were  attractive.  The  long  lines  of  camels 
bearing  great  burdens  could  always  be  seen  on  the  roads,  as 
were  the  equally  overburdened  donkeys,  slowl}'  and  carefully 
treading  the  dangerous  paths.  These  were  mixed  and  intermin- 
gled with  pilgrims,  who  come  from  the  whole  wide  world  to  visit 
Jerusalem.  Here,  too,  are  women  carrying  water,  as  in  Egypt, 
some  with  jars,  others  filling  great  skins,  carrying  fully  as  heavy 
loads  as  do  men  and  boys.  The  interest  never  flags,  as  there  is 
something  new  and  strange  at  ever}'  turn. 

In  visiting  Jerusalem,  most  of  us  find  how  deficient  Ave  are  in 
Biblical  lore.  While  I  had  read  and  devoured  books  of  travel, 
and  had  not  entirely  forgotten  early  lessons  and  pages  memo- 
rized, when  my  dragoman  pointed  out  places  and  prefaced  each 
with,  "Of  course  you  know  when  this  happened,"  and  what  chap- 
ter and  verse,  ranging  from  Exodus  to  Revelation  my  meager 
knowledge  of  Biblical  lore  was  mortifying.  It  was  necessary  to 
gain  confidence  in  myself  somehow,  so  when  a  learned  gentleman 
from  Boston  asked  me  which  guide-book  I  considered  the  best  for 
Jerusalem,  I  told  him  the  only  one  worth  having,  but  the  least 
known  to  the  average  traveler,  was  the  Bible,  he  bowed  in  def- 
erence to  my  seeming  knowledge,  and  we  went  our  ways,  both 
satisfied. 

There  is  much  that  must  be  taken  for  granted.  One  cares  not 
to  question  too  closely,  but  must  have  large  faith,  indeed,  to  be- 
lieve all  that  is  seen  and  told  in  visiting  the  various  shrines. 


Palestine.  195 

We  know  that  traditions  are  connected  with  every  ohl  stone, 
arch,  tomb,  and  wall  of  this  city.  It  is  something  to  he  per- 
mitted to  walk  the  narrow,  crooked,  dirty  streets  and  miserable 
alleys;  to  see  the  marvelous  walls  and  gates;  the  importunate 
beggars  and  piteous  lei)ers  pleading  by  the  highways;  the 
strange  commingling  of  nations,  —  Greeks,  Syrians,  Arabs,  Euro- 
peans, Russian  and  Moslem  pilgrims,  and  others  coming  to  this 
one  place  to  muse  on  Calvary,  to  tread  the  Street  of  Pain,  and 
rest  on  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

So  much  has  been  enacted  within  these  walls,  that  it  is  differ- 
ent from  any  other  place  on  earth.  There  are  such  sacred  asso- 
ciations mixed  and  interwoven  with  every  hill,  with  every  turn 
of  the  streets  —  a  wall,  arch,  or  tower  — ■  all  are  connected  with 
scenes  tha,t  have  left  an  indelil:»le  mark  on  the  history  of  the 
world.  For  do  not  these  hills,  these  walls,  speak  of  a  past  stretch- 
ing back  into  dim,  awe-inspiring  days,  daj's  without  question  the 
most  sacred  in  all  the  world's  histor}^? 

The  Holy  City  is  not  a  pleasure  resort,  and  few  come  for  that 
purpose,  I  imagine.  There  are  no  places  of  amusement  here. 
There  are  no  street-cars  or  clanging  bells.  No  newsboys  breezily 
announcing  the  latest  news  are  heard  in  the  streets.  There  are 
no  newspapers.  An  attempt  at  one  in  Hebrew  is  tried  tri-yearly. 
One  hears  instead  the  Muezzin  calling  from  the  towers,  in  the 
cool  mornings  and  quiet  evenings,  the  faithful  to  prayers.  "  God 
is  the  greatest  of  all,"  is  heard,  and  from  another  tower  comes 
the  answer,  ".Surely  our  Prophet  Mohammed  is  the  Apostle  of 
God."  And  ''  There  is  no  God  but  God,"  comes  through  the  still 
air  to  me,  as  I  sit  upon  the  housetop  and  ponder. 

I  think  of  all  the  sects,  from  the  whole  wide  world,  who  come 
and  w^orship  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher;  of  the  factions 
meeting  under  the  same  roof,  yet  hating  each  other  with  an  in- 
tensity that  is  evidenced  in  the  fact  that  to  no  one  order  can  the 
keys  of  the  church  be  intrusted.  They  are  in  the  keeping  of 
Moslem  guards,  who  sit  within  the  sacred  entrance,  smoking,  and 
jesting  around  their  charcoal  fires.  To  their  good  nature,  and 
the  amount  of  backsheesh  given,  one  must  trust  if  desiring  ad- 
mission. 

Only  once  out  of  three  visits  were  we  admitted.  We  were 
grateful,  however,  for  the  one  day  in  the  holy  place.     The  roof 


196 


A   Woman's  Wanderings. 


of  the  church  covers  so  miicli  of  interest  tliat  one  needs  days  in- 
stead of  hours.  First  of  all,  after  entering,  was  the  Stone  of 
Anointment,  where  the  body  of  Christ  was  said  to  have  been 
laid.  I  saw  i)ilgrims  prostrating  themselves,  and  kissing  the 
yellow  slab,  and  an  endless  procession  it  seemed;  saw  the  spot 
where  Mary  stood  watching  Christ  on  the  cross;  saw  a  piece  of 
the  stone  the  angel  rolled  away,  and  the  sepulcher,  where  the 
holy  fire  issues  on  Easter  day.  There,  too,  is  the  supposed  rod  of 
Moses,  and  the  pillar  to  which  Christ  was  bound  and  scourged. 
The  prison  where  he  was  held,  and  the  holes  where  the  three 
crosses  stood,  are  shown.  There,  too,  were  chapels  for  all  sects, 
and  altars  innumerable.  Among  so  much  that  is  wonderful,  is 
seen  the  spot  marking  the  center  of  the  world,  and  the  place 
where  the  earth  was  taken  from  that  went  into  the  making  of 
the  first  man,  Adam. 

One  must  possess  faith  that  passes  understanding  to  believe 
all  these  things,  which  are  told  in  this  church.  Yet  the  place  is 
sacred  from  associations;  it  is  something  to  see  the  stone  where 


MOUNT   CALVARY,   .JERUSALEM. 


Falestink.  197 

the  angel  stood,  and  the  rent  rock.  Tht-  exact  h:)cations  of  various 
places  may  not  be  accurate,  l)ut  we  know  these  hills  and  level 
spots  are  sacred.  We  know  that  He  walked  the  streets;  that 
here  He  died. 

Above  the  grotto  where  .Jeremiah  wrote  his  Lamentations  is  a 
place  which  was  more  impressive  to  me  than  any  other  in  Jeru- 
salem, called  "  Gordon's  Calvary."  The  place  where  He  suffered, 
was  buried,  and  rose  again  must  ever  be  of  supreme  interest  to 
all  believers.  It  seem  to  me,  the  only  possible  place  for  the 
tragedy  enacted  is  here.  The  church  that  is  built  over  the  sup- 
posed place,  in  the  heart  of  the  crowded  city,  a  city  that  was 
much  larger  then  than  now,  could  not  have  been  outside  the 
walls  at  that  time.  On  this  lonely  Calvary  one  might  well  im- 
agine the  thousands  who  watched  the  Crucifixion;  through  the 
gates  came  those  who  loved  Him,  following  the  form  bearing  the 
cross  along  the  Via  Dolorosa  to  Golgotha.  Here,  the  tragedy, 
the  most  pathetic  and  sorrowful  ever  witnessed  by  mortals,  began 
in  the  glare  of  sunshine,  and  ended  in  darkness.  The  sun  was 
dimmed,  and  supernatural  night  enveloped  the  place,  and  with 
the  end,  even  the  earth  shook  and  moved,  while  Pharisee  and 
Sadducee  and  the  world  of  revilers  fled.  One  sees  as  in  visions 
the  concourse  of  people,  the  high  officials,  priests,  the  rabble, 
and  the  terror  after  it  was  finished.  Now  all  is  c^uiet;  a  few 
graves  cover  the  fiat  top  of  the  hill. 

From  the  garden  and  tomb  at  the  foot  of  Calvary  I  saw  a 
man  come  up, —  a  man  who  had  been  used  to  the  rough  edges  of 
life,  weary  and  travel-stained;  but  in  his  face  a  look  one  could 
not  forget.  The  sunshine  had  left  a  glow  upon  it,  the  storms, 
and  grit,  and  dirt  of  life  had  seamed  the  worn  face,  but  the  blue 
of  the  sky  shone  in  the  eyes  looking  upward;  even  though  tears 
filled  them,  they  were  not  dim.  He  knelt  and  kissed  the  dust 
lovingly  and  tendei'ly.  To  such  as  he,  surely  the  promise  to  the 
faithful  will  hold  forever. 

In  no  city  is  there  so  much  to  impress  the  traveler  as  here. 
In  no  other  place  would  one  care  to  go  through  such  dirty  streets. 
But  who  would  miss  the  Pool  of  Bethesda,  or  the  Ecce  Homo 
Arch,  remembering  the  never-to-be-forgotten  words  of  the  Ro- 
man, who  said,  "  Behold  the  man!  "  or  the  room  of  Zion,  where 
was  held  the  last,  sad  supper;  or  the  tomb  of  David;  and  house 
of  Caiaphas,  where  Peter  denied  his  Christ? 


198  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

All  interest,  however,  is  not  eentered  in  tlie  city  limits.  I 
shall  not  soon  forget  one  day,  when  we  drove  through  the  Jaffa 
Gate,  out  past  the  Pool  of  Siloam  and  Hill  of  Evil  Council,  on 
over  the  road  wdiere  went  the  three  wise  men.  We  saw  the  well 
where  the  star  appeared  to  them  which  led  them  along  the 
charmed  way;  saw  the  rock  wdiich  bears  the  print  of  Elijah's 
body,  where  he  slept  after  fleeing  from  Jezebel;  there  was 
Rachel's  tomi),  pools  of  Solomon,  and  sealed  fountain.  We 
went  on  to  Bethlehem,  where  is  the  Church  of  the  Nativity,  the 
manger,  altars,  grottoes;  each  with  something  relating  to  the 
Christ-child.  It  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  our  ideas  of  the 
stable,  the  manger,  and  wise  men,  to  find  the  place  lined 
with  heavy,  highly  colored  brocaded  silks. 

So  much  here  is  supposititious  and  unreal,  it  was  a  relief  to 
go  down  a  sloping  hill,  where,  amid  gnarled,  distorted  olive 
trees,  we  were  shown  the  shepherd's  field,  where  the  shepherds, 
then  as  now,  watched  their  flocks  by  night.  The  country,  we 
fancy,  is  but  little  changed  since  the  angel  said  unto  them  of 
old,  "  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy." 

There  is  much  one  can  believe  but  slightly  altered  in  the 
country  surrounding  Jerusalem.  So  I  felt  while  on  the  Mount 
of  Olivesj  at  Gethsemane,  and  the  Virgin's  tomb.  The  stone 
where  Christ  ascended  may  be  mythical.  But,  looking  from  the 
slope  across  to  Jerusalem,  I  could  well  imagine  the  scene  but 
little  changed  since  the  time  when  "  He  beheld  the  city  and  w^ept 
over  it."  The  valleys  of  Kidron  and  Hinnom  lie  below\  Over 
to  the  left  is  the  leper  settlement.  There  are  desolate-looking 
cemeteries  on  the  slopes.  There  is  the  tomb  of  Absalom,  which 
the  Jews  pelt  with  stones,  and  Siloam,  and  the  well  where  Mary 
washed  the  swaddling-clothes  of  her  child. 

To  the  east  w'inds  the  road  over  the  hills  where  we  went  to 
Jericho,  on  past  Bethany,  Avhere  Mary  and  Martha  lived.  There 
is  a  flight  of  slippery  steps  leading  down  to  a  gloomy  chamber 
called  the  tomb  of  J-iazarus.  There  is  little  else  of  importance  in 
Bethany  now. 

We  drive  on  over  bare  hills  covered  with  stones  and  scant 
herbage  until  we  reached  the  House  of  the  Good  Samaritan;  it  is 
an  inn  now.     We  rested  and  had  luncheon. 

While  there  I  saw  a  large  crowd  —  over  five  hundred  Russian 


Palestine. 


199 


pilgrims,  Avho  liad  come  from  their  far-oft'  homes  to  the  Holy 
City,  and  were  on  their  way  to  the  Jordan,  carrying  nothing 
except  a  little  hard  bread  and  dried  fruit.  They  had  no  cover- 
ing save  the  clothing  worn.  The  men  and  women  were  in 
most  cases  beyond  the  middle  age,  yet  sturdy,  hopeful,  and 
happy.  We  had  seen  one  of  their  number  carried  on  a  stretcher 
on  the  shoulders  of  four  of  the  company,  a  day  before  —  an  old 
woman  who  had  died  in  Jerusalem.  They  carried  her  to  the 
nearest  cemetery,  placing  the  poor,  worn  old  frame  within  a 
shallow  grave.  No  cofhn,  not  even  a  board,  was  placed  in  the 
grave;  a  faded  handkerchief  shielded  the  face;  her  worn  gar- 
ments, all  she  possessed,  were  her  only  covering.  Yet  I  learned 
this  is  Avhat  they  desire  —  to  come  to  the  walled  city  to  die,  and 
rest  in  sacred  soil. 

We  saw,  on  the  way,  the  cave  where  Elijah  was  fed  by  the 
ravens.  From  the  hill  country  of  Judea  I  looked  across  the 
level  valley  where  the  Jordan  ran,  and  beyond  the  winding,  sil- 
very stream  were  the  beautiful,  blue  Moab  mountains.  There 
were  Gilead,  and  the  Wilderness  of  the  Temptation,  —  where 
Christ  was  tempted;  there  Elijah  Avas  translated. 


THK    DEAD    SEA. 


200  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

We  tarried  a  while  on  the  l)rink  of  the  Jordan,  and  rowed  upon 
its  swift-flowing  stream  after  we  had  come  hack  from  a  long 
journey  to  the  Dead  Sea,  which  is  better  named  than  any  one 
could  imagine  who  has  not  seen  its  desolate  shores.  Along  the 
whole  shore  I  saw  no  thing  of  life.  .  In  the  long  miles  before 
reaching  it,  nothing  but  a  stunted  shrub  grew  in  the  valley's 
alkaline  earth.  The  water  was  clear  and  placid,  but  more  salt 
and  far  more  bitter  than  the  waters  of  Salt  Lake. 

We,  like  other  pilgrims,  rested  beside  the  quiet  Jordan  until 
we  could  tarry  no  longer,  for  the  sun  was  sinking  over  Judea, 
and  shooting  rays  of  tremulous  light  through  scattering  clouds, 
and  then  sank  in  a  delicate,  soft,  yellow  atmosphere,  restful  and 
peaceful.  It  harmonized  with  the  surroundings,  and  left  an  im- 
pression fixed  imperishably  in  the  memory. 

I  was  not  allowed  further  time  for  meditation,  as  the  sheik 
whom  the  government  had  sent  with  us  for  protection  and  the 
dragoman  hurriedly  placed  me  in  the  carriage,  and  the  driver 
hastened  the  horses  back  toward  Jericho.  There  are  many  wan- 
dering Bedouins  in  this  region.  So  parties  must  have  guards 
who  come  to  visit  the  Dead  Sea.  Our  sheik,  with  gun,  sword, 
and  pistol,  in  regular  Bedouin  costume,  on  a  magnificent  Arab 
horse,  accompanied  us  from  Jerusalem,  and  was  with  us  the  en- 
tire trip.  I  was  not  alarmed,  though  our  horses  were  worn  out 
and  the  night  dark,  for  clouds  obstructed  the  moon  long  before 
we  reached  our  welcome  hotel  at  Jericho. 

This  town,  around  which  marched  the  children  of  Israel  long 
ago,  is  of  little  importance  now.  It  is  not  the  Jericho  of  thirty 
centuries  past.  A  few  palms,  some  filthy  huts,  a  modern  hotel  or 
two,  a  tower  called  the  house  of  Zaccheus,  and  clusters  of  Bedouin 
tents  are  about  all  there  is  of  the  magnificent  city  the  slavish 
Antony  gave  to  Cleopatra.  Here,  too,  Herod  died.  I  look  around 
and  think  of  the  desolation  here.  It  is  almost  as  lifeless  and 
dreary  as  that  Dead  Sea  over  and  beyond,  upon  which  the  dear 
Christ  looked  as  he  went  for  the  last  time  to  Jerusalem  and  l)ore 
his  burden  up  Calvary 's  slopes. 

The  Bedouins  interested  me  greatly.  They  seem  to  care  but 
little  for  the  wants  of  to-day  or  to-morrow.  They  are  a  strange, 
contradictory  race.  Murder  and  plunder  they  delight  in,  yet  an 
act  of  kindness  tliey  will  never  forget.     They  respect  the  laws 


.  f 


Palestine. 


203 


governing  their  ideas  of  hosintality,  liut  do  not  hesitate  to  rob, 
l)hinder,  and  murder  any  one  to  whom  they  are  not  obhgated. 
They  have  scanty  food  and  clothing,  but  their  evident  happy  and 
contented  tent  Kfe  make  them  objects  of  interest. 

I  learned  something  of  the  habits  of  those  who  wander  in  the 
far-off  deserts.  The  Arab  teaches  his  horse  to  drink  sparingly, 
and  when  put  on  green  pasturage  does  not  give  the  animal  any 
water.  In  preparing  for  long  trips,  a  horse  is  given  water 
but  once  in  twenty-four  hours.  Dates  and  camel's  milk 
are  supposed  to  be  the  most  strengthening  food,  and  the  desert- 
bred  horses  are  taught  to  take  both.  Men  who  seem  to  have  but 
scant  clothing  or  food,  judging  from  appearances,  I  often  saw  rid- 
ing the  most  magnificent  horses.  My  dragoman  told  me  of  certain 
sheiks  possessing  beautiful  steeds  whose  genealogy  extends  back 
for  two  thousand  years.  What  are  some  of  the  mushroom  nobility 
of  Europe  in  comparison  to  the  long  line  of  ancestry  these  horses 
have? 

We  visited  some  of  the  tents  —  idlers,  as  they  are  taking  but 

little  heed  of  any- 
thing that  savors 
of  Avork.  They 
thronged  around 
us,  curious,  but  not 
importunate,  beg- 
gars. On  our  way 
to  Elijah's  foun- 
tain we  passed 
some  tents  where 
children  were  play- 
ing. One  little 
l)ronzed  Cupid,with 
no  more  clothing 
than  the  angels 
wear,  ran  to  meet 
me,  crying  "  Back- 
sheesh." She  got 
her  backsheesh,  and 
I  a  good  kodak  pic- 
ture, which  I  deem 


LITTLE    BACKSHEESH. 


204  A  \VoMAx'8  Wanderings. 

a  "running"  success.  Some  old  familiar  lines  came  to  me  as  we 
drove  away:  — 

"  In  realms  where  I  revel,  no  waters  are  found, 

And  the  green  garb  of  nature  is  not  on  the  ground." 

If  there  was  not  much  water  there,  and  no  sign  of  grass,  this  little 
unclothed  cherub  of  the  desert  was  not  troubled.  Judging  from 
her  looks,  her  manna  was  abundant.  Happy  '"Little  Back- 
sheesh." So  I  christen  and  envy  you  your  freedom  from  the  fol- 
lies and  pastimes  of  clothed  Christianity. 

The  one  j^lace  in  all  of  Palestine  that  I  had  most  desired  to 
see — the  Garden  of  Gethsemane — I  found  disappointing.  Who 
has  not  thought  of  that  garden,  and  of  the  agony  endured  under 
the  trees?  I  saw  only  a  small  patch  of  less  than  an  acre,  in- 
closed by  a  high  stone  wall.  We  entered,  and  inside  the  outer 
wall  was  another  inclosure  of  sharp  iron  pickets  eight  or  ten  feet 
high,  interlaced  with  a  wire  netting,  inside  of  which  we  were  not 
allowed  to  enter.  Peering  through,  I  saw  some  straight,  stiff 
paths  bordered  by  shrubs,  square  beds  of  flowers  growing  between 
a  dozen  or  more  old  olive  trees,  and  a  few  spear-like  cypress  trees. 
A  number  of  badly  executed  scenes  from  the  crucifixion  are 
placed  on  the  walls,  which  we  are  allowed  to  view.  The  ragged 
old  custodian  would  not  allow  me  inside  the  iron  fence.  In  vain 
I  pleaded  to  stand  for  a  moment  under  one  of  the  old  trees;  he 
went  inside,  brought  me  a  few  flowers,  and  a  tiny  branch  of  an 
olive  tree,  for  which  I  paid  him.  The  gate  was  slammed  in  my 
face,  the  lock  clicked,  and  I,  rebellious  and  disappointed,  turned 
away;  it  was  not  Gethsemane  to  me. 

Elsewhere  in  Jerusalem  I  found  much  that  is  guarded  and 
spoiled  to  the  traveler.  No  matter  how^  sacred  the  place  or  with 
what  reverent  feelings  one  looks  upon  this  spot  or  shrine,  the 
eternal  haggling  over  admission,  or  payment  demanded  for  ser- 
vices not  rendered,  is  jarring  and  repulsive. 

Outside  the  Garden  is  the  rock  on  which  the  disciples  slept, 
and  a  small  piece  of  column  is  shown,  marking  the  spot  where 
Judas  betrayed  his  Master. 

In  returning  to  the  city  I  saw  men  kissing  each  other  as  in  the 
olden  days.     Let  us  hope  it  is  for  love  and  affection  only. 

The  strange,  moving  throngs  never  weary  me.  There  are  Syri- 
ans, draped  in  their  long  camel's  hair  cloaks,  bare-legged  and 


Palestine.  207 

slipshod,  and  the  green-turlianed  men  who  l)oast  the  blood  of 
the  Prophet.  The  emV)roidered  yellow  turbans  show  those  who 
have  made  the  Mecca  pilgrimage.  The  Armenian  and  Greek 
priests  we  soon  know,  and  also  the  Jew  with  small  corkscrew 
curls  in  front  of  each  ear. 

The  hard-worked,  barefooted  Arab  women,  Moslems,  and  women 
of  Bethany  are  all  veiled,  carefully  hiding  their  faces,  and  as 
carefully  pulling  up  their  skirts  to  show  a  dozen  inches  or  so  of 
hose,  strikes  the  Gentile  as  peculiar  to  this  singular  country. 

On  a  Friday  we  went  down  a  long,  narrow  street,  through 
allevs,  until  a  high  stone  wall  was  reached,  made  of  huge  l)locks 
of  stone,  with  straggling  weeds  and  tufted  grasses  growing  out  of 
rents  in  this  old  wall,  that  has  stood  for  hundreds  of  years.  I 
knew  without  the  dragoman  saying  it,  that  we  were  in  the  wail- 
ing-place  of  the  Jews.  A  long  line  of  women,  mostly  old,  were 
leaning  against  the  wall,  some  reading,  some  kissing  and  press- 
ing their  cheeks  lovingly  against  the  cold  gray  stones,  lamenting 
and  weeping  passionately,  sobs  shaking  the  poor,  worn  frames. 
There  was  no  hypocrisy,  no  restraint;  it  was  earnest,  and  one  of 
the  most  pathetic  sights  I  have  ever  witnessed.  One  in  the 
throng  would  say,  "For  the  palace  that  lies  desolate";  then  the 
reply,  "  We  sit  in  solitude  and  mourn";  again, "  For  the  walls  that 
are  overthrown";  "For  the  priests  who  have  stuml)led"  —  with 
ever  the  same  reply.  They  sit  and  stand  until  the  sun  goes 
down,  and,  still  sorrowing,  they  go  away  with  bowed  heads  and 
longing  hearts,  waiting  for  the  time  to  come  when  Jerusalem 
shall  be  restored  and  they  shall  be  comforted.  It  was  one  of  the 
most  touching  spectacles  I  have  ever  beheld.  It  was  so  genuine, 
so  simple,  that  it  moved  the  onlookers  to  tears. 

Another  place  where  all  is  quiet  and  peaceful,  which  we 
thoroughly  enjoyed,  was  the  Mosque  of  Omar.  Here,  also,  we 
had  armed  officials  go  with  us,  for  it  is  only  within  the  past 
twenty  years  that  Christians  were  ever  allowed  to  enter  this 
mosque  that  covers  the  Holy  of  Holies.  The  decorations,  arches, 
pillars,  walls,  and  vast  dome  are  gorgeous.  So  are  the  priceless 
rugs  that  came  from  the  Sultan's  loom.  There  we  went  with 
shoes  put  on  over  ours,  for  no  one  is  allowed  to  enter  otherwise. 
This  is  on  the  site  of  Solomon's  Temple.  Here  is  the  great  rock 
where  sacrifices  were  made.  Abraham  was  on  the  point  of  slay- 
ing Isaac  here.     It  is  regarded  as  the  central  point  of  the  world. 


208  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

The  Ark  of  the  Covenant  stood  here.  The  old  Moslem  who  took 
us  under  his  arm  and  eye,  so  to  speak  —  for  we  were  never  out  of 
reach  of  either  —  told  us  that  this  rock  came  from  Paradise;  that 
the  rock  was  tired  of  earth  when  Mohammed  took  his  last  leap 
heavenward,  and  rose  like  a  rubber  ball  to  follow  him.  He 
showed  us  the  prints  of  the  angel  Gabriel's  fingers,  where  he 
pushed  the  rock  back,  and  showed  us,  also,  the  cavern  where 
David,  Solomon,  Abraham,  and  others  prayed.  There  is  a  deep 
impression  on  the  roof  of  the  cavern,  left  by  Mohammed's  head. 
He  was  taller,  evidently,  than  the  others,  so  the  rock  kindly  made 
way  for  his  head.  There  was  an  air  of  quiet  about  the  place  that 
was  pleasing.  They  observe  order,  and  the  crowds  go  not  there. 
I  could  not  exhaust  the  marvels  of  this  wondrously  beautiful 
place,  so  leave  it  for  others.  It  costs  quite  a  little  sum  to  see  all 
the  beauties  and  mysteries  of  the  place.  They  have  a  certain 
stone,  and  all  believers  who  touch  it  are  sure  of  heaven.  The  un- 
believers may  make  sure  by  putting  up  backsheesh.  One  young 
man  gave  the  money;  then  afterwards  refused  us  all  an  interest 
in  the  affair  unless  we  formed  a  joint-stock  company. 

"  The  sultry  breeze  of  Galilee 

Creeps  through  its  groves  of  palm  ; 
The  olives  on  the  Holy  Mount 
Stand  glittering  in  the  calm." 

A  calm  that  entered  my  soul,  tender,  touching,  and  filling  the 
heart,  flooding  the  eyes,  on  one  moonlit  night,  when  we  drove  out 
of  the  city  to  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  sat  upon  the  hill  over- 
looking Jerusalem.  The  walls  and  city,  minarets  and  towers, 
were  bathed  in  the  soft  light  of  the  full  moon.  In  the  dim  dis- 
tance the  waters  of  the  Dead  Sea  glimmered,  and  the  mountains 
of  Moab  and  lonely  Nebo  loomed  faint,  shadowy,  and  phantom- 
like. Down  below  was  Gethsemane,  with  the  pale  light  on  the 
olive  trees;  a  picture  sad,  yet  lovely  —  so  full  of  suggestions,  so 
beautiful  in  the  calm,  still  night,  that  it  seemed  as  though  some 
of  the  radiance  and  glory  of  old  had  descended  upon  it.  Across 
the  valley  the  city  sat  enthroned  on  the  hills.  The  shadows 
were  upon  the  walls  and  under  arches.  There  were  faint  calls 
from  the  watchers  on  the  far-off  towers.  The  sound  will  linger 
in  the  ears  and  till  the  eyes  grow  dim  in  death  will  the  vision 
of  that  last  night  recur,  for  Olivet  and  Gethsemane  are  engraven 
like  cameos  upon  the  heart. 


SYRIA. 

From  Jerusalem  I  go  to  Jaffa  and  thence  to  Beirut  by  steamer, 
being  but  one  night  on  the  vessel.  Going  on  deck  in  the  early 
morning,  the  beautiful  city  greets  me  from  slopes  above  the  glori- 
ous Mediterranean.  I  know  of  no  town  more  picturesquely  situ- 
ated than  Beirut.  This  chief  port  of  Syria  and  Lebanon"  has  a 
population  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand,  and  is  pro- 
gressive. There  are  twenty  printing-offices  here— one  in  Jeru- 
salem. It  is  the  center  of  the  Oriental  book  trade  in  Syria,  and 
shows  more  progress  than  any  city  on  the  eastern  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  for  it  has  really  begun  to  educate  the  females  — a 
thing  heretofore  considered  entirely  unnecessary. 

It  is  also  noted  for  silk-worm  culture.  We  visited  some  places 
where  spinning  and  weaving  were  carried  on  quite  extensively. 
We  saw,  en  route  to  Damascus,  large  tracts  planted  with  mulberry 
trees,  grown  exclusively  for  the  silk-worms. 

There  were  immense  olive  groves,  and  the  oil  and  olives  are 
said  to  be  very  fine  and  of  a  superior  quality.  However,  we 
found  no  olives  suited  to  our  taste.  They  either  do  not  know 
how  to  extract  the  bitter,  or  they  like  it.  The  green  olives  taste 
like  a  dose  of  quinine,  and  the  ripe  olives  are  soft,  mushy,  and  un- 
palatable. They  make  an  excellent  quality  of  soap  from  olive  oil, 
just  as  they  manufacture  butter  out  of  the  fat  tails  of  the  sheep.' 

I  at  first  did  not  realize  the  value  of  the  fat-tailed  sheep  we 
saw  in  such  great  herds  through  Palestine  and  Syria,  thinking  it 
odd  they  raised  such  sheep  in  hilly  regions— for  in  climbing  the 
slopes  they  seemed  weighed  down  with  the  fatty  attachments. 
We  knew  later  that  not  only  was  the  meat  excellent,  but  the 
tails  are  largely  used  in  making  butter  and  oil  for  cooking.  The 
poorer  classes  know  no  other  kind  of  butter.  The  people  need 
not  stint  themselves  on  the  butter  question,  as  the  tails  of  this 
variety  of  sheep  weigh  often  from  seventy  to  eighty  pounds  each. 
I  saw  none  so  large  that  they  needed  the  board  or  sled  which  in 
some  sections  are  said  to  be  attached  to  the  sheep  to  carry  their 
tails,  but  possibly  the  "heavyweights"  were  housed  up  until 
the  rainy  season  was  over. 

211 


212  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

We  went  through  the  Syrian  Protestant  College.  The  build- 
ings are  very  imposing,  and  we  admired  the  music-room,  which 
seats  four  hundred.  The  floors,  vaulted  roof,  arches,  etc.,  were  en- 
tirely of  pine  and  redwood  from  America.  The  professor  who  took 
us  through  was  enthusiastic,  and  said  the  success  of  the  college  was 
not  to  be  calculated;  that,  morally  and  intellectually,  Syria 
was  benefited  by  it  beyond  the  telling. 

Our  trip  over  Lebanon  b}^  the  ordinary  and  cogwheel  road  to 
Damascus,  —  nine  hours'  time  —  a  little  less  than  one  hundred 
miles  — cannot  be  beaten,  save  by  the  Jaffa-Jerusalem  railroad.  It 
is  good  in  one  respect,  for  there  is  a  fine  opportunity  to  study  scen- 
ery from  the  heights  of  Lebanon,  which  dabljles  its  feet  in  the 
glorious  green  blue  sea  in  serrated  ridges  and  terraced  patches  of 
trees  or  vines. 

This  railway,  even  if  desperately  slow  and  tedious,  is  one  of 
the  most  charming  and  attractive  features.  It  clambers  over 
steep  grades,  like  the  mountain  goats.  The  surveyors  of  that 
road  must  have  been  used  to  steep  grades,  concluding  an  engine 
might  go  where  a  sheep  or  goat  could.  So  it  is  built,  and  is  a 
success,  or  has  been  for  some  four  or  more  years. 

There  are  valleys  and  entrancing  views  of  mountains  and 
rushing  water.  And  then  in  regal  beauty  there  bursts  upon  the 
vision  an  apocalypse  of  threefold  beauty  —  the  peaks  of  Mount 
Hermon,  rearing  his  three  snowy  fingers  nine  thousand  feet  in 
the  blue-gray  atmosphere.  It  was  the  white-haired  or  snow 
mountain  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  and  is  a  landmark  of  Palestine 
and  Syria  also. 

From  the  top  of  Lebanon,  the  hallowed  mountain,  the  grand 
panoramic  view  of  the  sea,  yellow  sands,  reddish-brown  hills,  and 
acres  of  many-hucd  flowers,  is  most  beautiful.  Fruit  and  orange 
trees  are  in  bloom,  filling  the  air  with  delicious  odors. 

I  was  much  interested  in  the  picturesque  folk  —  the  wonderful 
make-up  of  the  Bedouins,  the  gayly  decorated  Arabian  horses, 
the  long  lines  of  camels  and  donkeys,  always  carrying  such 
heavy  burdens. 

I  never  saw  but  one  camel  who  was  not  growling  and  swearing 
in  true  camel  style.  Theirs  is  simply  a  life  of  toil,  of  heavy  bur- 
dens, and  it  is  small  wonder  they  show  no  affection  or  fondness 
for  their  keepers.     This  one  camel  was  chosen  from  among  his 


Syiua.  213 

fellows  to  conduct  a  bride  with  her  household  goods  to  her  new 
home.  She,  clad  in  a  bright  silk  gown,  heavily  veiled,  rode  astride 
a  moth-eaten  donkey,  the  groom  leading  it,  while  the  camel 
pranced  and  towered  above  the  trio  had  as  near  a  smile  on  his 
face  as  a  camel  could  conjure  up.  He  seemed  the  only  jovial 
one  of  the  party. 

That  the  country  is  fruitful  and  requires  but  little  coaxing  to 
bring  forth  abundant  crops  is  evidenced  by  the  mere  scratching 
of  the  surface  in  plowing,  which  is  done  by  cattle  not  much 
larger  or  heavier  than  donkeys.  The  plows,  crooked  wooden  af- 
fairs, were  so  light,  one  man  alwa3^s  carried  the  plow  and  yoke  on 
his  shoulders  in  crossing  the  fields.  Still,  there  was  a  charm  in 
the  ingenuity  displayed  in  their  various  industrial  pursuits;  for 
their  implements  are  certainly  crude  and  novel. 

The  day  was  waning  when  the  dragoman  announced  that 
Damascus  and  dinner  were  near.  "We  entered  the  city  through 
walls  made  of  huge  blocks  of  mud  and  gravel  pressed  into 
shape  and  sun-dried.  Most  of  the  houses  of  the  poorer  classes 
have  walls  and  roofs  constructed  of  the  same  material.  How 
they  stand  the  severe  rains  is  a  mystery.  I  noticed  rollers  on 
most  roofs,  which  are  used  after  rains  to  keep  the  earth  and 
straw  compact.  The  town  seems  cruml^ling  to  pieces.  It  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  oldest  city  in  the  world,  so  has  a  right  to  crum- 
ble. 

The  weather  was  rainy  and  disagreeable  during  most  of  our 
stay.  We  went  out,  however,  regardless  of  dripping  days, 
through  tortuous  streets  that  required  better  driving  than  I 
thought  the  coachman  capable  of,  for  they  have  not  had  car- 
riages many  years.  The  streets  are  so  narrow  that  there  is  hardly 
room  for  a  vehicle.  The  street  called  "  Straight"  is  covered,  and 
runs  the  entire  length  of  the  city.  Here  are  the  bazaars  where 
are  the  beautiful  silks  and  genuine  Persian  carpets;  the  quaint 
garments  worn  by  the  Bedouins  and  peasants;  the  spices  and 
saddle  markets  with  all  the  rich  trappings  that  would  drive  an 
old  vaquero  mad,  and  are  the  delight  of  the  Bedouins  and  Arabs. 

I  saw  a  party  of  these  Bedouins  starting  out  for  a  jaunt  over  the 
Syrian  desert.  Their  Arab  steeds  were  covered  with  heavily  em- 
broidered trappings,  the  men  equally  gorgeous  in  long  robes  and 
cloth  wound  about  the  head  and  face,  only  the  vicious  eyes  show- 


214  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

ing,  and  carrying  long  lances.  They  did  some  fancy  riding  that 
would  have  shamed  our  Apache  warriors.  I  was  told  they  were 
off  for  the  desert,  and  were  bent  on  some  thieving  and  murderous 
expedition. 

We  saw  the  house  of  Ananias,  and  the  place  where  St.  Paul 
was  let  down  from  the  walls  in  a  basket,  and  the  Mosque,  splen- 
did in  mosaic,  wood  and  marble  carving.  From  the  top  of  one 
tower,  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  city,  we  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  rich,  fertile  valley,  looking  like  a  sea  in  emerald 
beauty,  rimmed  in  by  distant  hills.  Far  beyond  the  green  line 
stretched  the  endless  desert.  The  domes  and  minarets  add  to 
the  appearance  of  the  city,  but  are  far  short  of  what  I  expected 
to  see. 

The  groves  of  poplars,  which  are  about  the  only  forest  trees 
here,  surround  the  city,  growing  tall  and  straight.  They  setm 
like  solid  phalanxes  of  soldiers  crowding  against  an  enemy. 
They  are  pushed  into  one  vast  conglomerate  mass,  except  at  one 
point,  where  a  long  line  of  straggling  houses  have  broken 
through,  running  quite  a  distance  among  the  trees. 

We  saw  the  tomb  of  Saladin,  and  the  wreath  the  German 
Emperor  placed  upon  it,  who  is  thoroughly  disliked  and  cen- 
sured for  it  by  the  Christians  here. 

I  saw  a  procession  starting  for  Mecca  with  richly  decorated 
palanquins  strapped  on  camels,  wherein  were  S(;ated  the  pilgrims, 
and  other  camels,  laden  with  provisions,  water,  etc.,  for  the  long 
journey.  The  men  were  singing,  and  beating  drums.  It  was 
quite  a  caravan,  yet  there  was  but  one  family.  The  great  ex- 
pense is  not  considered,  however,  in  this  case,  for  the  man  was 
very  wealthy,  and  the  trip  to  Mecca  is  the  one  thing  to  be  de- 
sired among  the  followers  of  the  prophet  Mohammed. 

We  visited  the  spot  where  thousands  of  Christians  were  buried 
after  the  massacre  of  1860,  and  other  places  of  minor  importance. 

Most  amusing  was  the  life  around  me,  watching  the  Arabs  in 
the  m/V'.s,  playing  cards,  puffing  narghilas  with  stems  five  or  six 
feet  in  length,  amid  laughter,  smoke,  and  the  droning  of  wheezy 
songs  they  sing,  or  call  singing.  It  is  only  a  series  of  grunts  and 
discordant  sounds.  Notes  they  have  not.  The  dancing-girls  are 
ungraceful  and  odd  to  our  eyes,  yet  we  soon  grow  accustomed  to 
the  strange  life,  manners,  and  costumes  of  the  people. 


Syria.  215 

I  was  taken  to  some  houses,  sort  of  show-places  for  tourists, 
going  through  muddy,  ill-smelHng,  alley-like  streets,  very  much 
worse  than  our  ideas  of  alleys.  However,  once  inside  the  walls, 
the  change  is  so  great  that  it  is  bewildering.  The  wealth  and 
luxury  in  costly  marbles,  artistic  decoration,  gorgeous  Oriental 
hangings,  priceless  rugs,  marvelous  effects  in  wood-carvings  and 
stained  glass,  gave  me  a  better  idea  of  Oriental  life  than  could 
be  gained  from  churches,  mosques,  and  bazaars. 

I  was  entertained  one  evening  in  true  Oriental  style  at  the 
home  of  a  wealthy  family,  celebrating  the  engagement  of  the 
eldest  daughter,  a  coffee-tinted  girl  with  glorious  eyes.  We  sat 
in  an  apartment  on  a  sort  of  raised  platform  covered  with  rugs. 
There  were  divans  and  cushions,  also  taburet  tables  laden  with 
candies,  cigarettes,  coffee  and  cakes,  with  the  men  and  women 
sitting  cross-legged  on  the  floors. 

There  was  music,  too,  —  a  violin  and  an  "oud,"  which  might 
be  the  grandfather  of  all  mandolins,  accompanied  by  the  queer- 
est singing  in  the  world,  and  even  more  disagreeable  than  Chinese 
music.  The  mother  of  the  girl  sat  in  the  lower  part  of  the  room, 
near  a  splashing  fountain,  and  smoked  her  narghila  in  peace. 
The  father,  in  long  embroided  robes,  did  likewise,  drinking  arak 
made  from  the  juice  of  grapes,  and  flavored  with  aniseed,  offering 
drink  and  pipe  in  turn  to  his  guests.  We  refused,  but  satisfied 
his  generous  instincts  by  the  quantity  of  coffee  and  sweets  con- 
sumed. We  were  pleased  with  the  evening's  entertainment  and 
the  "At  home"  in  Damascus. 

Leaving  the  old  city,  we  went  to  Muallaka  by  rail,  then  a  four 
hours'  drive  over  a  warm,  sunny  plain,  destitute  of  trees,  the 
slopes  covered  with  vineyards,  the  level  plains  used  only  for  pas- 
turage, until  we  came  to  Baalbek. 

Of  this  famous  city  and  ruins  history  tells  us  but  little.  But 
to  those  who  love  to  dip  into  hoary  antiquity  there  is  a  charm 
and  fascination  about  the  quaint  old  city  that  is  huddled  up  in 
compact  masses  of  lime  and  mortar  built  houses,  flat-roofed  and 
covered  with  mud  and  stones.  There  are  great  temples  of  Jupiter 
and  the  sun.  There  is  nothing  in  all  Syria  to  equal  the  beauty 
of  these  old  ruins,  rising  grandly  in  the  midst  of  the  town. 
There  is  nothing  now  to  indicate  why  such  stupendous  temples 
should  have  been  erected  in  this  desolate  valley.     While  they 


216  A  Woman's  Wandkhings. 

have  not  the  grandeur,  l)eauty  of  has-rclief  });untiug  or  anticiuity 
of  Egypt,  llu-y  are  wonderful  in  their  decayed  magnitieenee. 

I  saw  in  the  temple  of  Jupiter  a  hit  of  sculpture  which  aroused 
me.  Being  tlie  natal  day  of  the  "  Father  of  our  country,"  as  well 
as  my  own,  I  was  particularly  interested  in  the  emhlem.  An 
eagle  soaring  aloft,  holding  in  his  talons  the  thunderholts  of  Jove, 
reminded  me  of  the  fact  that  our  glorious  1)ird  of  freedom  was 
only  an  idea  stolen,  after  all,  from  this.  Did  the  old  Romans 
have  their  spread-eagle  speeches  in  these  temples  dedicated  to 
Baal  and  Jupiter,  or  were  they  used  for  haser  purposes? 

There  are  no  veiled  prophets  or  Romans  to  answer  questions 
now.  All  is  (|uiet,  only  I  hear  a  "  low,  humming,  mournful 
sound,  of  priests  within  their  shrines  at  prayer."  Is  it  a  sound 
wafted  up  from  the  cloisters  lielow,  or  an  echo  from  the  dead  past, 
or  the  winds  moaning  among  those  huge  columns  which  rise  to  the 
height  of  sevent^y  feet,  rows  vipon  rows,  in  i)eauty  and  suldimity? 

There  are  great  stones  in  one  of  the  walls.  One  is  sixty-four 
feet  long,  and  is  said  to  Aveigh  nine  hundred  tons.  Others  nearly 
as  large  are  in  a  wall  now  twenty-four  feet  from  the  ground. 
What  builders  and  architects  they  had  in  those  old  days! 

From  the  top  of  the  Acropolis  I  had  a  most  enchanting  view 
of  the  wide  valley  covered  with  waving  grass.  Above  the  green 
were  the  sloping  hills  in  various  shades,  colored  with  oxide  of 
iron.  Higher  up,  the  tops  were  dazzling  white  with  a  new  fall  of 
snow.  In  the  far  distance  were  the  cedars  of  Lebanon;  in  an- 
other direction  lay  Mount  Hermon.  I  saw  the  sun  go  down, 
throwing  soft,  strange  shadows  from  the  Ijroken  arches  and 
columns  on  the  flower-besprinkled  sod  so  far  below.  The  city 
lay  misty  and  lilue  at  the  foot  of  the  sloping  hill,  while  the 
golden  light  rested  lovingly  on  the  Temple  of  the  Sun..  It  seemed 
to  me  then  most  natural  and  reasonable  that  these  buildings 
should  have  Ijeen  erected  for  the  worship  of  the  life-giving,  glori- 
ous orb  now  leaving  us  in  the  land  of  shadows. 

The  winds  changed  suddenly  as  the  sun  disappeared,  to  chilly 
and  cold,  causing  the  blood  to  become  almost  frapped  in  my 
veins  before  I  left  the  tem^jles  erected  to  the  worship  of  nature's 
god.  In  my  hotel  I  rested  until  the  night  melted  away,  and  the 
sun  once  again  came  up,  and  shone  warm  and  bright  upon 
Mount  Lebanon,  and  blessing  us  later  in  the  valley  l)elow. 


Syria.  217 

I  recall  the  scenes  of  the  drive,  the  freshening  winds,  the  effect 
of  sun  and  shadows  on  the  hills,  and  the  play  of  light  upon  the 
river  rippling  along.  The  air  grew  warm.  A  summer  slumber 
rested  upon  the  valley,  rimmed  in  l)y  snow-topped  mountains. 
It  was  a  spectacle  of  transcendent  beauty.  I  carried  away  with 
me  from  Baalbek  memories  of  the  sul)lime  ruins,  in  some  respects 
unsurpassed  by  any  in  the  world,  lying  in  the  Syrian  plain  l)e- 
tween  Lebanon  and  Anti-Lebanon. 

A  vision  of  the  cedars — of  these  Ezekiel  wrote,  ''AH  the  trees 
in  Eden,  that  were  in  the  garden  of  God,  envied"  them,  and  my 
mind  flies  back  to  that  great  ocean  lapping  the  borders  of  my  own 
fair  Golden  State.  I  see  a  point  of  land  whereon  grow  cedars. 
None  others  are  Hke  them,  lieautiful  and  grand,  standing  in 
gnarled,  somber,  and  weird  rnagniticence  like  those  of  Lebanon. 
Those  at  Cypress  Point,  Monterey  County,  possess  a  fascination 
for  me  none  others  ever  have.  Grand  and  majestic  in  their  isola- 
tion, they  are  of  themselves  apart,  and  harbor  no  aliens. 

From  Beirut  to  Constantinople  we  loitered  along  the  Syrian 
coast  for  eight  days.  At  first  the  weather  was  fine.  The  numer- 
ous stoppages  were  pleasant,  we  going  ashore  while  the  l)oat  took 
on  or  discharged  freight. 

Tripoli,  Alexandretta,  Mersina,  and  Smyrna!  What  ravishing 
recollections  spring  up  of  these  cities,  the  lovely  snow-capped 
mountains,  and  the  fruitful  valleys.  The  south  wind  had  come, 
the  almond,  apple,  and  orange  blessoms,  and  all  kinds  of  tender 
flowers  that  grow  to  the  very  borders  of  the  warm  .Egean  Sea, 
mingled  their  fragrance,  and  wafted  me  sweet  odors.  There 
were  gardens  upon  the  terraced  hills  and  vineyards,  the  vines 
lacing  and  interlacing  in  spider-web  designs  —  a  perfect  network 
of  beauty,  fragrant  and  rich  upon  those  fertile  slopes  which  line 
the  bays  and  coast  line  of  Asia. 

There  were  picturesque  islands  and  promontories,  more  beau- 
tiful in  the  Gulf  of  Smyrna,  "The  crown  of  Ionia,"  than  else- 
where along  the  route.  I  recall  Rhodes,  the  old  town  of  the 
Crusaders,  and  Samos,  the  country  of  Pythagoras. 

The  whole  route  as  far  as  Salonica  was  under  crags  and  glit- 
tering snow-peaks,  forest-clad  hills,  wind-l)lown  and  rugged,  yet 
making  perfect  pictures  against  the  azure  sky.  The  matchless 
tints   of    the    water,    the   depth    and    intensity    of  the  blue,  the 


218  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

brightly  tinted  shores,  and  the  sweet,  sunny  atmosphere  were 
nowhere  equaled.  All  through  Palestine  and  Syria  it  was  like  a 
song  of  Solomon. 

From  Salonica  on  the  sea  played  pranks,  and  our  songs  were 
changed.  Lamentations  were  in  order  until  we  reached  the  Dar- 
danelles. I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  have  had  the  energy  to 
kick  had  I  been  thrown  in  the  water.  Fortunately,  we  had 
no  more  rough  water.  Byron  was  probably  in  better  spirits 
than  we  when  he  swam  over  this  strait.  It  does  not  seem  far 
enough  across  to  have  been  made  so  much  of,  and  the  attempt 
of  Leander.     But  history  is  often  made  up  of  trifles. 


TURKEY. 

Through  the  Dardanelles  and  the  Sea  of  Marmora  it  was 
smooth  and  enjoyable  until  we  reached  Constantinople.  The 
Sea  of  Marmora,  Golden  Horn,  Bosphorus,  seraglios,  mosques, 
palaces,  domes,  and  minarets  were  in  bewildering  array,  dazzling 
and  confusing!  What  a  jumble  and  medley  of  emotions  and 
scenes! 

We  were  transferred  to  small  boats  and  taken  through  the  line 
of  officials  who  demanded  our  passports,  looked  through  a  por- 
tion of  our  luggage,  and  captured  a  Bible  and  a  few  unimportant 
books.  They  are  almost  as  strict  here  as  in  Russia.  One  gentle- 
man told  me  afterwards  he  had  several  books,  one  on  Constan- 
tinople he  prized  highly,  taken  from  him.  They  were  not  re- 
turned to  him.  We  got  ours  partly  from  the  fact  that  the  Sul- 
tan was  not  mentioned  in  the  Bible. 

I  was  met  V)y  a  special  agent,  who  guided  us  out  of  the  mass  of 
the  dark-visaged,  red-fezzed  rabble  to  our  hotel  overlooking  the 
city  and  the  Golden  Horn.  From  the  terraced  roof  I  afterwards 
had  a  more  impressive  view  than  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

It  is  hard  to  tell  what  constitutes  the  great  charm  of  Constan- 
tinople. There  is  water  everywhere,  sparkling  blue  and  dimp- 
ling in  the  sun.  There  are  Marmora  and  the  Archipelago  be- 
yond the  Dardanelles  leading  to  the  Grecian  seas,  and  the  tortu- 


Turkey.  219 

ous  Bosphorus  tilled  with  boats  of  every  sort,  stretching  in 
narrow  perspective  until  it  reaches  the  Black  Sea. 

In  the  very  heart  of  the  city  the  Golden  Horn  disputes  posses- 
sion, ruffling  up  in  anger,  or  quietly  kissing  the  shores  lined  with 
mosques,  acres  of  marble  seraglios,  and  palaces  of  the  w'ealthy. 
There  are  Stamboul,  Scutari,  St.  Sophia,  the  Seven  Towers, 
Pera,  and  the  famous  Galata  Bridge  is  always  crowded  and  very 
rickety  wdien  one  is  on  it,  but  bringing  in  daily  a  very,  very 
large  sum  to  enrich  the  Sultan,  who  is  too  parsimonious  to  repair 
it.  There  are  forests  of  minarets,  enormous  composite  heaps, 
graceful  domes,  delicate  spires,  gilded  roofs,  palm  trees  and 
black-looking  groups  of  cypresses  amidst  columns  and  statues 
joined  in  among  ordinary  dwelling-houses,  crowding  down  to 
the  water's  edge,  where  are  vast  quays  and  broad  landing-places, 
at  which  ride  vessels  from  the  whole  wide  world,  while  thick  as  in- 
sects on  the  water  are  the  trim,  fancy  caiques  and  pleasure  craft 
of  all  kinds  literally  swarming    on  the  Bosphorus. 

Almost  our  first  thought  in  starting  out  was  to  visit  St.  Sophia, 
the  church  that  has  Ijeen  a  sort  of  theatre  wherein  the  greatest 
and  most  solemn,  as  well'  as  most  horrible,  scenes  the  world  has 
known  have  been  enacted  —  coronations,  nuptials,  and  baptisms, 
through  the  line  of  Byzantine  emperors,  from  Constantine  down 
until  the  Byzantine  Empire  ended.  The  Crusaders  gave  thanks, 
and  Scythians,  Bulgarians,  and  Greeks  forgot  their  quarrels. 
Belisarius  hung  his  trophies  here,  and  Mahomet  II.  rode  in  after 
that  memorable  massacre,  and,  urging  his  horse  over  the  thou- 
sands of  piled-up  dead,  placed  his  bloody  hand  upon  the  wall 
and  struck  a  column  with  his  sword  to  end  the  harvest  of  death . 
More  than  twenty  feet  from  the  floor  is  the  print  of  the  hand  on 
the  wall,  showing  the  depth  of  the  dead  bodies.  Awful  and  ter- 
rible it  must  have  been. 

Yet  the  place  is  so  sacred  to  these  "  impossible  Turks"  that  we 
can  only  enter  by  special  permission,  and  a  judicious  application 
of  money  —  that  which  conquers  all  prejudices — the  volapuk 
that  speaks  throughout  the  entire  world,  all-powerful  and  un- 
questioned. Our  clean  shoes  were  covered  with  dirty  old  slip- 
pers, and  Ave  must  go  sliding  about  in  these  ancient  goatskins  or 
go  barefooted.  That  the  Moslems,  filthy  and  repulsive,  lie  about, 
or  do  acrobatic  feats,  falling  prone  upon  their  faces  while  they 


220  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

call  upon  Allah,  or  swing  back  and  forth  reciting  the  Koran 
until  one  is  dizzy  looking  at  them,  is  no  matter.  They  are  of 
Mahomet's  flock  and  go  unquestioned. 

I  shall  not  attempt  a  description  of  this  church.  That  I  was 
grievously  disapi:)ointed  is  of  small  moment.  It  is  plain,  ponde- 
rous, and  unlovely.  There  is  but  little  now  to  convey  an  idea  of 
its  former  glories.  I  am  only  sorry  that  Baalbek,  Athens,  and  scores 
of  other  places  were  reft  of  their  fairest  treasures  to  beautify  this 
place,  for  nearly  all  have  disappeared.  It  is  sacred  to  the  Turk, 
who  has  been  industrious  in  one  line  only;  that  is,  in  the  liberal 
use  of  whitewash  and  some  gilt  and  tawdry  paintings,  thu^  oblit- 
erating every  vestige  of  Christianity. 

We  saw  the  ancient  Hippodrome  and  mausoleum  of  Mahomet 
II.  The  sarcophagus  was  covered  with  a  magnificent  cover  of 
embroidered  velvet.  A  curious  custom  struck  me  in  the  number 
of  beautiful  cashmere  shawls  folded  and  placed  across  the  cover- 
ing, each  representing  the  gift  of  a  favorite  wife. 

Other  mosques  were  visited.  Some  were  beautiful  in  architec- 
ture and  tilings.  Bagdad  and  Persian  carpets  were  on  the 
floors,  so  priceless  it  seemed  a  shame  to  see  the  grimy,  lia re- 
footed,  dirty  people  on  them.  But  they  were  Moslems,  and 
looked  with  no  kindly  eyes  upon  us,  so  we  agreed  to  let  them 
alone,  and  went  to  more  congenial  places. 

I  remember  a  trip  to  the  Galata  Bridge,  where  the  past  and 
present,  civilization  and  barbarism,  the  Christian  and  Moslem, 
meet,  jostle,  and  crowd  the  old  structure  to  overflowing.  From 
this  bridge  we  went  on  a  small  boat  up  the  Golden  Horn;  Stam- 
boul  on  the  one  side,  Pera  and  Galata  on  the  other,  palaces, 
kiosks,  mosques,  houses,  and  trees  thickly  lining  the  shores  for 
miles,  and  crowning  the  hills  which  rise  in  gentle  slopes,  making 
the  scene  indescribably  beautiful  and  lasting  the  whole  distance 
to  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia. 

We  walked  from  a  landing  to  the  top  of  a  high  hill  commanding 
an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  then  went  down 
through  a  cemetery.  Such  desolation  in  the  tossed,  tuml)led- 
down  state  of  gravestones  and  general  decay  I  had  never  seen. 

It  was  my  misfortune  to  see  several  funerals.  The  bodies  were 
carried  upon  the  shoulders  of  men,  some  coffined,  some  not.  An 
open  grave  near  the  path,  with  a  skull  damp  with  earth,  arrested 


Turkey.  '  221 

my  attention.  Looking  into  the  grave,  I  saw  a  broken  coffin  and 
the  rest  of  the  partly  decomposed  body  in  it.  The  workmen 
were  busy  with  the  contents.  I  lingered  not,  but  a  few  steps  far- 
ther met  a  funeral  procession  carrying  the  body  of  a  woman. 
We  saw  them  pause  at  the  grave,  and  I  do  not  know  positively 
—  for  our  dragoman  said  it  was  safer  for  us  to  keep  away  —  but 
I  saw  them  put  the  body  in  that  horrible  grave,  carrying  aAvay 
the  stretcher  upon  which  the  corpse  rested.  So  they  must  have 
put  the  body  in  that  broken  coffin.     It  was  strange  and  horrible. 

These  people  do  not  believe  in  taking  the  life  of  a  beast,  and 
will  let  an  animal  which  is  wounded  suffer  untold  angonies  for 
days  or  weeks,  but  will  never  kill  it.  Yet,  as  soon  as  life  is  gone 
they  seem  to  have  but  little  respect  even  for  their  dearest. 

The  tombstones  are  unique  affairs.  Those  of  the  men  are  des- 
ignated by  the  fez  or  turban  as  they  wore  it  in  life.  One  can 
tell  by  this  feature  whether  a  dervish,  theologian,  or  ordinary 
mortal  is  beneath.  Whenever  a  woman  is  deemed  worthy  a 
stone,  if  she  has  borne  children  the  number  is  designated  in  gilt 
roses.  If  there  were  no  children,  there  is  no  golden  rose  for 
her. 

These  veiled  women  seem  to  have  a  rather  hard  time  of  it  in 
many  ways.  It  was  odd  to  see  the  curtained  places  on  the  boats 
and  cars,  where  they  must  hide  themselves  when  going  about, 
but  amusing  to  know  that  the  men  and  boys  who  sold  sweets 
were  never  barred  out. 

We  were,  by  special  courtesy  of  the  Sultan,  allowed  to  see  the 
Treasury,  wherein  are  stored  the  millions,  it  seems,  of  jewels  and 
costly  ornaments  of  all  imaginable  kinds,  garniture  for  men, 
trappings  for  horses,  etc. 

The  royal  palace  was  thrown  open  for  us,  as  there  were  about 
three  hundred  Americans  in  Constantinople  when  we  were.  We 
were  special  guests  also  at  the  Selamlik. 

From  the  windows  overlooking  the  road,  and  almost  over  the 
Mosque,  we  saw  the  Sultan  when  he  comes  every  Friday,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  his  religion,  where  he  shows  himself  to  his 
people,  or  rather  a  few  of  the  faithful.  And  it  takes  something 
like  five  thousand  soldiers  to  protect  him  when  he  holds  this 
levee,  or  rather  show,  when  he  goes  to  church  so  escorted  once  a 
a  week. 


222  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

There  were  special  guards  on  foot,  grand  officers  and  troops  on 
grander  Arabian  horses  in  sohd  ranks;  hmcers,  flags,  artillery- 
men, soldiers  in  dark  uniforms,  and  the  everlasting  red  fez; 
horsemen  in  green  and  silver;  Albanians  in  embroidered  jackets; 
bands  everywhere.  There  were  soldiers  stepping  proudlj'  along, 
l)ut  in  their  every  pace  showing  the  drilling  l)y  German  officers. 
They  pass  and  repass,  forming  lines  compact  and  solid. 

And  then  along  the  avenue  came  first  the  veiled  women  of  the 
harem,  who  remained  in  their  carriages.  After  them,  in  an 
open  landau,  came  the  Sultan,  a  far  more  pleasant-looking  man 
than  I  expected,  who  had  none  of  the  terror  depicted  on  his  face 
I  had  heard  was  always  there.  No  soul  save  the  officials  were 
allowed  within  the  lines.  He  entered  the  Mosque,  but  kept  us 
only  a  short  time  before  he  reappeared. 

He  drove  ])ack  in  another  vehicle  alone,  his  attaches  and  min- 
isters crowding  thickly  around  the  phaeton  and  assisting  the 
magnificent  white  horses  with  their  precious  burden.  It  was  all 
quite  theatrical,  the  fine  scenic  effect  heightened  by  a  snowstorm 
which  came  down  heavily  all  day  long.  It  was  rather  late,  for 
it  was  the  9th  of  March,  but  it  added  to  the  rnsemble. 

In  the  mean  time  we  were  served  with  tea,  bread,  Initter,  and 
cigarettes,  and  though  they  told  us  we,  as  a  nation,  were  well 
liked  by  the  Sultan,  we  paid  a  dollar  each  to  see  the  Treasury, 
and  some  odd  francs  for  this  day's  pageant.  He  lost  nothing. 
We  had  more  than  evened  up  for  the  bread  and  tea. 

We  enjoyed  the  taste  of  winter  after  Egypt.  But,  for  the 
thousands  of  miserable  dogs  that  curse  the  city,  it  was  not  beau- 
tiful to  them  —  no  home  save  the  streets;  owned  by  no  one;  fed 
something  by  the  city,  only  that  they  may  not  devour  people. 
These  sacred  beasts  lie  six  and  eight  in  a  bunch,  and  never  mov- 
ing. People  walk  around  them,  or  get  in  the  mud  of  the  streets 
rather  than  displace  one.  They  cannot  be  killed,  as  that  is 
against  the  rule.  So  they  remain  a  disgrace  to  the  city.  Utterly 
degraded,  they  know  and  feel  it.  There  is  no  glad  bark  or  wag 
of  tail;  no  frisky,  happy  ones,  except  when  they  are  too  young 
to  know  the  depths  of  misery  to  which  they  are  doomed.  Each 
dog  is  a  prisoner,  l)eing  condemned  by  dog  laws  to  his  own 
street.     Woe  betide  him  if  he  ventures  in  another  dog's  territory. 

The  streets  of  Constantinople   are  horrible,    dirty,  filthy,  ill- 


Greece.  223 

paved,  with  scarcely  a  sidewalk  to  speak  of,  full  of  ruts  aud 
holes,  that  make  life  a  burden  to  drive,  and  fully  as  unpleasant 
to  walk  on.  In  no  instance  did  I  see  any  attempt  to  repair  them. 
They  are  not  pleasant  recollections. 

I  saw  the  Seven  Towers,  which  was  once  a  state  prison,  l)ut 
now  utterly  dilapidated,  with  its  terril)le  dens,  and  the  "  well  of 
blood,"  down  into  wdiose  depths  I  peered  with  horror;  there  were 
caves  also  where  victims  died  lingering  deaths;  places  where 
others  were  guillotined,  and  wdiere  many  sultans  ended  their 
lives.  There  is  a  court  where  the  heads  of  victims  had  been 
piled  up  until  they  reached  the  battlements. 

It  was  in  this  region  that  Medea  spread  her  poisons,  scenting 
the  air,  wdiich  seems  to  linger  yet  over  the  towers  and  dark  old 
Seraglio.  And,  like  Jason  on  his  expedition,  we  left  the  Sultan's 
domain,  not  in  search  of  the  golden  fleece,  or  wool  of  Colchis, 
but  the  golden  sunshine  and  sunny  isles  of  Greece  beckon  us, 
and  we  go  toward  the  shores  of  history  and  song. 


GRE  E  C/  E . 

From  the  Bosphorus  and  Black  Sea,  with  its  biting  winds  and 
storm-tossed  Avaters,  across  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  through  the 
Dardanelles  to  the  iEgean  Sea,  among  the  fairy  islands  of  the 
Grecian  Archipelago,  we  steamed  for  the  better  part  of  two  days. 
Then  our  boat  landed  us  at  Pirgeus.  We  ignored  railroads  and 
electric  cars  and  took  a  carriage,  driving  along  the  road  where 
the  famous  long  wall  once  ran,  until  we  reached  Athens.  There 
is  but  little  of  importance  between  the  two  places,  but  we  had  a 
good  view  of  the  country. 

We  arrived  at  our  hotel  before  a  personally  conducted  party 
camie,  who  w^ere  enjoying  the  tour  by  a  continual  warfare.  Hotels, 
steamers,  their  conductor  —  all  came  in  turn  for  condemnation. 
When  through  with  these,  they  fought  among  themselves  about 
rooms,  seats  at  table,  and  in  carriages.  It  was  amusing  to  listen, 
but  would  have  been  dreadful  to  be  in  it,  or  one  of  them.  Why 
people  ever  elect  to  cross  the  Atlantic  in  that  manner  passes  my 


224  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

understanding.  Once  the  arrangements  are  made,  no  matter 
how  disagreeable  people  or  things  may  be,  they  as  a  rule  must 
stand  by  the  contract.  There  was  not  one  of  the  twenty-five 
who  looked  happy  or  contented,  not  one  but  could  have  traveled 
better  and  with  less  expense  if  they  only  had  the  courage  to  try 
it.  And  I  should  advise  those  who  have  not  the  courage  to  re- 
main at  home,  rather  than  travel  as  these  people  did,  and  they 
were  no  exception  to  the  rule. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  decided  change  than  we  found 
in  the  distance  traveled  between  Constantinople  and  Greece.  In 
Athens  we  found  good  streets,  broad,  well-paved,  and  sprinkled.j 

It  Avas  a  surprise  and  pleasure,  even  if  we  could  not  read 
Greek,  to  hear  the  newsboys  crying  out  the  latest  news,  with 
stacks  of  newspapers,  and  running  about  in  the  old  familiar  way. 
It  was  something  I  had  not  heard  for  months. 

There  were  bizarre  figures,  mosques,  bazaars,  avalanches  of 
chatter  and  confusion,  the  mingling  and  bewildering  rippling 
effects  of  colors  and  of  strange  throngs. 

The  red  fez  is  not  here.  The  veiled  women,  useless  bundles  of 
clothes  in  rainbow  colors  and  high-heeled  slippers,  are  not  in 
Athens.  Instead  of  covered  faces  and  uncovered  ankles,  I  saw 
honest  sun-kissed  women  and  maidens,  brown,  but  with  the  rich, 
warm  blood  showing  under  the  tan.  Honest  eyes  looked  into 
ours.  Pleasant  smiles  and  greetings  came  from  the  poorest, 
while  mirth-loving  children,  gathering  flowers,  threw  their  dainty, 
fragrant  bouquets  into  the  carriage  as  I  drove  along  the  sacred 
road  where  laurel-crowned  hosts  once  marched  from  Athens  to 
Eleusis. 

There  Avas  much  of  ihe  modern  that  pleased  us  in  Athens,  an 
unexpecled  mixture  of  ancient  and  modern  times.  After  a  hasty 
view  of  the  city,  we  went  first  to  the  Stadium,  where  the  Athe- 
nian festivities  were  held  in  the  heroic  days. 

We  were  more  interested  in  the  place  because  it  was  here,  in 
1896,  that  the  famous  Olympian  games  were  revived.  And  here, 
too,  on  their  own  soil,  in  their  revered  Stadium,  now  restored,  it 
was  that  our  countrymen  beat  the  Greeks  in  every  contest,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  save  the  long-distance  run  from  Marathon. 

The  temple  built  to  Jupiter  Olympus  is  near,  but  little  is  left 
except  some  magnificent  columns.     There  are  the  monument  of 


Greece.  225 

Lycaretiis,  the  theater  of  Diony^ius,  the  Odeon  of  Herodes  Atti- 
cus,  the  prison  of  Socrates,  Nymph's  Hill,  the  Pnyx,  all  cluster- 
ing around  the  Acropolis,  once  the  pride  of  Greece  and  envy  of 
the  whole  world. 

This  marvelous  ruin  crowns  the  summit  of  a  steep,  rocky  hill, 
rising  abruptly  from  the  city,  which  clusters  around  it.  What  it 
was  in  its  glistening  glory,  when  finished  in  the  fifth  century 
B.C.,  would  be  hard  to  imagine.  The  old  Pelasgi,  of  whom  but 
few  traces  remain,  are  said  to  have  founded  this  place.  One  is 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  skill  of  those  old  Greek  artificers,  who 
under  Pericles  finished  the  Parthenon,  and  dedicated  it  to  Mi- 
nerva. Even  in  ruins  it  is  magnificent.  Its  simplicity  and  fine 
lines,  found  only  in  Greek  temples,  excite  admiration,  as  do  the 
beautiful  Doric  and  Ionic  columns. 

One  cannot  but  have  a  sort  of  reverence  for  those  builders  who 
raised  these  incomparable  temples.  They  were  devout  in  the 
worship  of  their  gods  and  goddesses.  Time  and  money  they 
counted  not,  so  they  erected  these  temples,  and  to  strength  and 
solidity  they  added  grace  and  dignity.  What  marvels  of  sculp- 
ture blossomed  into  beauty  and  life  seemingly  from  the  hand  of 
Phidias!  Bits  here  and  there  heaped  and  scattered  over  the  hill, 
even  if  there  were  not  so  much  left  of  temples,  show  the  unrivaled 
art  of  antiquity.  Here  is  the  temple  of  the  Wingless  Victory, 
and  the  statues  of  the  Amazon-like  maidens  of  the  Erectheum 
are  about  all  the  figures  that  have  escaped  the  despoiler's  hand. 
The  last  were  dedicated  to  Minerva  and  Neptune. 

According  to  tradition,  Minerva  won  the  guardianship  by 
causing  an  olive  tree  to  grow.  Neptune  struck  the  earth  with 
his  trident  and  a  horse  sprang  into  life.  Why  Neptune  wanted  a 
horse,  I  know  not,  but  the  two  seem  to  thrive  and  are  alike  use- 
ful in  Greece,  up  to  date,  for  the  automobile  has  not  to  my  knowl- 
edge found  favor  in  Greece. 

The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  Acropolis  is  almost  unparal- 
leled, I  fancy  — the  fair  plain  below,  farther  on  Lycabettus  Hill, 
to  the  east  the  mountains  of  Hymettus-Pentelicon,  and  Parnes 
in  the  distance.  There,  too,  was  ^Egina's  rock  and  rugged 
isles,  the  glorious  azure  gulf.  Bay  of  Eleusis,  with  the  island 
of  Salamis,  Attica,  and  Marathon  in  the  distance.  I  could  not 
attempt  what  Byron  gave  to  the  world  in  the  "Corsair." 


226  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

There  were  ruins  of  aerial  temples  heaped  high  against  the 
moon,  intensified  and  made  more  beautiful  by  the  surroundings; 
beautiful  under  the  glowing  sun,  but  mellowed  and  softened  under 
the  moon's  rays.  Theirs  was  a  blind  worship.  l)ut  it  must  have 
been  beautiful  in  its  way. 


^i* 


MARS    HILL,    WHERE    ST.    PAUL    PRE.VCHED   TO    THE    ATHENIANS. 

I  looked  across  to  Mars  Hill,  only  a  stone's-throw  distant, 
where  Paul  preached  to  the  Athenians.  The  motive  was  the  sin, 
but  St.  Paul,  iconoclastic  as  were  others  in  the  infancj'-  of  Chris- 
tianity, apostrophized  the  beautifully  sculptured  gods  in  the 
Acropolis,  and  the  poor  gods  were  broken  and  defaced  even  as  in 
Egypt  so  much  destroyed  that  it  seems  a  pity.  He  was  not  an  illit- 
erate man,  and  the  world  would  be  richer  had  he  hurled  the 
thunderbolts  of  his  wrath  against  the  blind  worship. 

Across  from  the  Areopagus  I  stood  where  Demosthenes  delivered 
his  eloquent  speeches  to  tlie  wondering  people.  Near  here  was 
the  legendary  cam})  of  tlic  Amazons,  while  they  were  attacking 


Greece.  227 

the  stronghold  of  Theseus.     And  here  Xerxes  with  his  archers 
sent  fiery  darts  into  tlie  citadel  during  the  Persian  war. 

What  stirring  memories  and  scenes  came  to  me  as  I  stood  on 
the  bleak,  wind-swept  hill.  The  eloquent  words  of  Demosthenes 
thundered  across  to  Mars  Hill,  where  in  softer  and  sweeter  tones 
Paul  told  the  Athenians  the  beautiful  story  of  the  one  true  God. 

These  memories  are  mingled  Avith  the  sounds  of  fierce  struggles 
of  warring  hosts;  the  swish  of  fiery  arrows  into  the  wooden  walls; 
the  downfall  of  greatness;  Socrates  in  his  prison  in  some  poor 
caye  in  the  hillside  near,  but  facing  the  Acropolis.  He  and  old 
Epaminondas  accepted  the  reyerses  of  the  times.  One  thinks  of 
their  courage  and  fortitude  in  picturing  them  among  the  rank 
and  file  of  common  soldiers. 

Our  great  men  are  different  now.  If  by  chance  one  acquires 
some  honors  in  a  battle  or  two,  the  highest  position  the  country 
can  give  is  asked.  Ours  is  a  braye  nation,  but  I  haye  not  heard 
of  one  of  our  exalted  heroes  putting  off  the  insignia  of  office,  like 
Epaminondas  shouldering  his  arms  and  marching  courageously 
with  the  men  who  do  the  work. 

In  the  Ceramicus,  or  ancient  cemetery,  repose,  among  many 
monuments  of  the  dead,  Pericles.  Farther  away  I  saw  a  hill 
that  recalled  the  memory  of  ^dipus,  the  blind  King  of  Thebes. 
There  Sophocles  receiyed  inspiration  to  write  his  play.  There, 
too,  was  the  Acadeni}^  of  Plato.  No  rich  vegetation  or  sacred 
groves  cover  the  hill  now,  as  then,  but  the  view  of  Athens  and  the 
ruins  of  the  Acropolis  can  never  fail  to  command  admiration. 

Every  foot  of  land  in  this  vicinity  has  its  history.  The  dead 
past  does  not  bury  its  dead.  They  survive  here.  The  gorgeous, 
solemn  ruins  tell  of  a  wondrous  past,  stranger  than  the  imagina- 
tion can  picture.  In  the  dreamy  mystery  of  the  lives  of  those 
giants  in  intellect,  the  heroes,  gods,  and  goddesses,  in  sculpture 
and  in  temples,  relive. 

I  sat  in  a  wondrously  beautiful  carved  marble  chair  in  the 
theatre  of  Dionysius,  where  high  revel  was  held  years  and  years 
ago.  The  seats  were  Pentelic  marble.  Some  lovely  broken  bits 
of  sculptured  figures  and  bas-reliefs  seem  as  if  from  the  sculptor's 
hand.  Yet  this  theater  was  finished  over  three  hundred  years 
before  Christ.  Here  Sophocles,  Aristides,  and  other  celebrities 
enacted  tragedies  and  comedies.     Here  they  had  their  sweet  illu- 


228  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

sions  of  love,  of  friendship,  of  noble  ambitions,  and  high,  trusty 
deep  faiths.  All  have  passed  away.  And  in  contemplating  the 
glories  of  ancient  Greece,  in  contrast  to  the  life  of  the  country  at 
the  present  time,  I  should  —  were  I  an  inhabitant  of  the  place  — 
prefer  the  days  of  Pericles. 

No  wonder  the  people  are  degenerate,  when,  instead  of  war- 
like Amazons  and  superb  warriors,  we  see  the  Grecian  soldier 
an  airy  sort  of  creature  in  braided  jacket  and  short,  full  skirts 
that  would  put  a  ballet-dancer  to  shame,  with  white  hose,  low 
slippers,  and  huge  tassels  on  the  toes.  Fancy  Leonidas  in  that  cos- 
tume. Spartan  heroism  would  have  failed,  lam  sure,  at  the  exuber- 
ant fullness  of  skirt  and  poverty  of  length.  They  have  no  sort  of 
cousinship  with  charity — they  cover  so  little.  I  thought  it  a 
pity  the  white-robed  priest  of  ancient  times  had  no  voice  in  the 
affairs  of  to-day;  some  of  the  customs  and  costumes  might  well 
be  destroyed  on  the  sacrificial  altars.  As  a  whole,  however, 
there  is  nothing  objectionable — only  absurd  and  comical. 

If  the  people  are  changed  and  somewhat  different  to  one's 
ideas  of  Grecian  manners  and  costumes,  the  country  wdth  its  di- 
versity of  scenery  cannot  be  disappointing. 

There  are  hills  and  ravines,  trees  and  vines,  fertile  bits  of  land, 
and  magnificent  views  of  the  plain  and  bay  of  Marathon.  Here 
is  the  Attic  plain,  with  fair  Athens  in  the  center.  The  command- 
ing peak,  Lycabettus,  on  one  side;  Hymettus,  with  its  range  upon 
range,  on  the  other,  while  far  away  are  the  snowy  summits  of 
Parnassus. 

Of  all  excursions  made  I  enjoyed  most  that  to  Eleusis,  over 
the  sacred  road  along  which  the  great  annual  procession  of  the 
Eleusian  Mysteries  passed  in  ancient  times,  where  children  car- 
ried flowers,  and  priestesses  led  the  sacrificial  bulls  to  the  tem- 
ples. It  is  a  fine  road,  leading  from  the  city,  lined  with  great 
pepper  trees,  arched  and  meeting  overhead,  winding  among  vine- 
yards and  gnarled  old  olive  trees,  until  we  passed  the  Cephisus 
River,  a  mere  thread  of  water  running  through  the  valley. 

We  passed,  en  roxite,  a  modern  lunatic  asylum,  more  ornamental 
than  useful,  judging  from  the  appearance  of  closed  shutters.  It 
looked  like  a  summer  hotel  out  of  season,  and  closed  for  lack  of 
customers. 

We  went  on  through  a  series  of  foothills,  rather  bare,  past  the 


Greece.  229 

hill  of  the  Daphne,  where  the  ancient  sacred  park  of  laurel  t;rew. 
I  thought  of  Apollo  and  his  laurel  in  hot  pursuit  of  Daphne. 
From  the  top  of  a  hill  I  had  an  unrivaled  view  of  fair  Piraeus, 
the  Bay  of  Salamis,  and  Eleusis,  the  latter  more  celebrated  than 
Athens,  owing  to  its  venerable  shrines.  • 

We  crossed  the  fertile  plain  where  the  goddess  Ceres  once 
guided  the  plow  and  taught  the  arts  of  agriculture.  Women 
were  practical  in  those  days,  if  they  were  goddesses.  And  as  a 
proof  of  the  unchanging  faith  and  stability  of  women,  they  are 
still  following  her  teachings.  For  women  were  digging  ditches 
for  irrigation,  plowing  in  the  fields,  crushing  rock  for  repairing 
the  roads,  and  doing  all  sorts  of  manual  labor.  Yet  I  saw  no 
one  in  short  skirts  or  tassel-bedecked  slippers. 

At  Eleusis  are  the  ruins  of  the  great  Propylea,  where  priests 
once  offered  sacrifices  and  women  sang  and  danced  in  honor  of 
the  goddess  Demeter  or  Ceres.  The  magnitude  of  the  ruins  is 
astonishing.  What  masses  of  beautiful  marble  columns,  whole 
quarries  of  walls  and  ornamental  portions,  heaped  up  enough  to 
build  a  town. 

In  Italy  and  Egypt  every  ruin  or  place  worth  it  has  ])een  de- 
spoiled to  decorate  some  other  place.  It  is  different  here.  Noth- 
ing has  been  molested,  so  the  places  are  beautiful  in  their  ruins. 

Here  are  seen  the  black  rocks  where  the  goddess  wept  like  any 
mortal  over  her  sheaves  of  wheat,  I  suppose  because  Pluto  set  the 
style  of  eloping  with  her  daughter  Proserpine.  In  this  temple, 
whose  origin  is  lost  in  mystery,  Ceres  established  the  mysteries 
in  honor  of  different  gods.  The  Persians  and  Goths  finished  the 
destruction  of  these  grand  temples. 

The  sun  shines  on  the  long-unused  floors,  and  green  mosses 
and  wild,  frail  flowers  grow  in  spaces  and  rifts  of  the  broken  and 
defaced  sanctuaries.  Light,  ])eauty,  and  color  are  everywhere  — 
sunny  atmosphere,  blossoming  trees,  ethereal  loveliness  of  trans- 
parent opaline  tints  on  the  horizon  and  reflected  lieauty  of  the 
hills  in  the  sapphire  bav  that  is  without  a  ripple. 

There  is  an  unchanging  charm  of  the  islands,  and  rhythm  of 
the  sea  laving  the  tomli  of  Themistocles.  The  gleaming  coast- 
line and  dazzling  snow-clad  mountain  ranges,  I  fancy,  are  much 
the  same  as  when  those  old  pagans  held  high  revel.  These  tem- 
ples have  echoed  to  all  phases  of  life.     The  beautiful,  the  terrible, 


230  A  Woman's  WAXDrRiNGS. 

the  shameful  and  sul)hme,  good  and  bad,  these  stones  have  wit- 
nessed. No  voice  from  the  past  breaks  tlie  silence,  and  quietly 
I  sat  and  feasted  my  eyes  upon  a  scene  almost  unrivaled.  Yet  a 
vein  of  sadness  came  with  the  restful  and  quiet  air  of  the  place. 
For  in  all  the  solid  rank  and  file  of  dead  years  gone  there  is  no 
voice  from  that  far-off  time  to  breathe  one  whisper.  No  restless 
heart  comes  to  tell  aught  of  tin;  gulf  between  them  and  me. 

The  day  grew  old  all  too  soon,  and  as  the  way  was  long,  we 
went  along  the  rim  of  the  sea,  feeling  that  the  quiet,  warm 
spring  day  was  in  harmony  with  the  mystical  old  road,  and 
rather  regretted  that  we  were  leaving. 

Here  were  the  sanctuaries  of  the  gods  —  of  Pan  and  Apollo. 
Pan  was  honored  here  for  the  scare  he  gave  the  Persians  at  Mara- 
thon. Apollo — if  I  remember  —  in  a  cave  in  the  vicinity  had 
his  little  surprise  party,  wherein  a  daughter  of  Erectheus  figured 
as  co-respondent  in  the  surprise  business.  It  was  after  this  cele- 
brated party  that  the  lonians  were  known  in  the  world.  These 
people  seem  to  have  set  the  fashion  in  most  things,  the  wor]d 
imitating  ever  since. 

We  went  back  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  with  the  glow  still  in 
the  western  skies,  and  the  great  full  moon  shining  on  the  tall 
spectral  temples.     And  the  day  was  done. 

There  is  little  of  interest  in  modern  Athens,  though  the  streets 
are  fine,  as  are  the  parks  and  public  buildings. 

There  seems  to  be  little  ceremony  observed  by  the  rulers.  I 
saw  the  queen  get  in  her  carriage  at  the  Palace  with  as  little 
attention  as  any  ordinary  lady  going  out  for  a  drive.  A  lady 
accompanied  her.  There  was  a  coachman  in  dark  livery,  and  one 
footman  only  —  no  especial  mark  of  any  sort  whereby  people 
might  know  royalty  was  out  for  an  airing. 

We  had  enjoyed  a  few  days  of  warm  spring  weather,  which  was 
douV)ly  alluring  after  so  much  rain  and  snow  in  Constantinople. 
But  there  was  a  heavy  rain  the  morning  we  left  Athens.  The 
country  needed  it  badly,  for  there  had  been  but  little  for  some 
time,  and  the  small  patches  of  grain  looked  shriveled  and  yellow. 
They  have  none  too  much  at  any  time. 

Nowhere  have  I  seen  such  deep  trenches  for  irrigation  as  here 
for  the  vineyards  and  olive  trees.  There  seem  to  be  few  trees  of 
any  other  sort,  and  they  are  all  irrigated.     The  ditches  are  dug 


Greece.  231 

so  deep  one  can^Hcarcely  see  the  vines.  The  water  is  near  the 
surface  and  is  brought  up  by  boxes  attached  to  endless  chains. 
The  pumps  are  usually  run  by  cattle  or  horses,  though  in  several 
instances  I  saw  women  turning  the  wheel. 

We  found  good  cars  and  good  railroads  in  Greece,  as  were  the 
hotels.  In  fact,  one  might  enjoy  a  lengthy  stay  in  Athens  and 
have  comforts  as  well  as  scenery  —  something  not  always  to  be 
had  in  traveling.  Besides  being  reasonable,  they  are  a  pleasant 
race  of  people  to  meet. 

I  was  thoroughly  delighted  with  my  sojourn  there,  and  looked 
regretfully  back  at  Athens  and  the  lovely  plain,  the  old  Acropolis, 
and  the  rugged  hills  which  are  ferruginous  in  character  and  gave 
such  harmonious  blending  of  tints,  reds,  purples,  and  ochers. 

The  blossoms  were  bending  their  heads  under  the  falling  rain, 
and  gloomy  looked  the  fields,  where  only  yesterday  the  butter- 
flies and  bees,  early  as  it  is  in  the  springtime,  were  staggering 
in  delight  among  the  yellow  mustard  blooms,  purple  irises,  and 
violets.  The  birds  were  almost  bursting  their  throats  in  the  joy 
of  it  and  were  hurrying  to  tell  each  other  that  it  was  springtime 
in  Greece,  and  the  time  for  telling  it  had  come. 

We  had  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  Salamis  and  Eleusis.  A  rainbow 
showered  its  colors  over  the  only  old  Pelasgian  tomb  and  above 
the  temples,  symbolical  of  past  glories  in  the  gorgeous  colorings. 
There  were  clouds  and  shifting  mists,  with  white  spray  from 
sapphire  waves  scudding  across  the  sea,  ever-changing,  a  succes- 
sion of  glorious  views  all  the  way  to  Corinth. 

Along  the  gulf  of  ^Egina  we  went,  crossing  the  canal  at  Cor- 
inth that  clasps  hands  with  the  Ionian  and  ^Egean  seas,  which  is 
so  short  and  straight  that  we  saw  the  two  seas,  or  gulfs,  as  we 
crossed  it. 

From  Corinth  we  went  to  Patras,  where  we  embarked  for 
Brindisi. 

There  seems  but  little  in  the  way  of  agriculture  except  vine- 
yards. People  must  live  on  grapes  and  olives,  with  scenery 
for  dessert. 

From  Patras  we  sailed  away  in  the  teeth  of  a  storm  from  the 
land  of  delicious  memories  —  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  Mount  Ida, 
fair  Olympus,  Salonica,  Isle  of  Milo,  and  all  the  historical  spots 
of  which  Sappho  is  credited  with  loving  and  remembering  in  her 


232  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

songs.  Others  have  said  more  and  to  l)ettcr  purpose.  But  tlie 
impression  is  abroad  in  the  world  that  she  was  the  prima  donna 
of  the  times.  She  doul)tless  received  the  majority  of  l)allots,  so 
we  will  not  dispute  the  will  of  the  people. 

Should  any  one  within  the  "sound  of  my  pen"  decide  on  a  voy- 
age between  Athens  and  any  port  westward,  and  take  passage 
on  a  Greek  l)oat,  rememl)er  they  were  warned  in  time.  I  de- 
murred in  the  beginning,  but  was  assured  that  the  lioat  was  new, 
large,  and  room}-.  It  was  all  of  that,  it  is  true,  but  for  comfort 
and  convenience  there  was  not  the  slightest  evidence. 

We  were  unfortunate  enough  to  encounter  again  the  aforesaid 
warring,  personally  conducted  party.  After  our  affairs  were 
settled  —  and  it  took  all  my  knowledge  of  Greek  and  French,  in- 
terspersed with  poor  English,  to  make  the  male  stewardess  un- 
derstand that  I  was  alone.  A  gentleman  who  chanced  to  be 
from  America  was  assigned  the  same  room  with  me.  In  vain  I 
told  the  officials  we  were  not  one  family.  Then  the  Harvard  man 
tried  in  his  best  Greek  to  make  them  understand  that  we  had  met 
by  chance;  it  was  embarrassing  and  amusing  also.  There  was  a 
lack  of  accommodation,  and  stupidity  and  greed  understood  noth- 
ing. Possession  was  not  nine  points  of  the  law  that  night.  My 
luggage  once  in  the  room,  the  key  turned,  it  was  the  full  rounded 
ten  and  no  mistake. 

The  young  man  and  several  other  lirst-class  passengers  had  to 
go  to  the  second-class  quarters,  and  they  said  it  was  terrible. 
Some  of  the  women  wept.  One  had  hysterics.  The  men  had 
wordy  fights.  I  was  comforted  and  let  the  war  wage.  None  of 
that  conducted  party  should  enter  my  retreat.  There  were 
enough  of  disturbing  influences  making  themselves  felt,  and  I 
had  sufficient  to  bear;  my  downy  bed  consisted  of  a  thin  mat- 
tress placed  on  boards,  the  pillows  were  hard  as  packed  cotton 
could  make  them. 

There  were  only  a])Out  three  people  out  of  some  forty  passen- 
gers who  were  up  the  next  morning.  I  had  been  on  the  Atlantic, 
the  English  Channel,  and  North  Sea  when  I  thought  it  was 
rough,  but  never  knew  just  what  pranks  a  boat  could  be  up  to, 
or  how  a  thing  without  legs  could  imitate  a  "bronco"  so  well; 
kick  and  plunge  her  back  up  like  a  porpoise,  head  down,  heels 
up.     When  tired  of  that,  she  would  roll  over,  first  on  one  side, 


Italy  Revisited.  233 

then  on  the  other  —  anything,  it  seemed,  to  get  rid  of  her  cargo. 
Talk  of  sickness!  The  wails  and  moans  all  that  night  and  the 
following  day  were  something  to  be  remembered,  and  there  was 
nothing  delicious  about  the  recollection  either.  I  noticed  be- 
tween acts  that  the  men  were  more  emphatic  and  vigorous  in 
their  expressions  than  the  women.  It  was  more  serious  than  we 
knew,  for  we  were  too  ill  to  know  or  care  very  much. 

We  were  late  reaching  Corfu,  where  we  learned  that  the  sea 
had  been  so  rough  that  but  little  headway  could  be  made.  The 
captain  said  that  during  the  day  there  were  two  hours  at  one 
time  when  the  boat  did  not  make  ten  feet!  It  was  good  for  us  to 
find  quiet  waters.     It  was  to  me  — 

"  What  the  first  flowery  isle  must  be 
To  vagrant  birds  blown  out  to  sea." 

When  once  again  on  deck,  I  breathed  the  sweet,  fresh  air,  and 
ate,  after  a  fast  of  twenty-four  hours. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  look  upon  Corfu,  and  the  fortresses  glow- 
ing in  the  fading  light.  As  night  came  on  the  sea  grew  calm, 
and  rest  and  sleep  came  to  us  after  the  storm.  The  old  Greeks 
believed  the  gods  steered  their  vessels  into  port.  Maybe  there 
is  something  in  the  l)lind  faith.  In  all  the  terrible  rough  and 
stormy  seas  encountered,  it  seemed  that  more  than  Greek  knowl- 
edge or  skill  kept  the  ship  from  foundering.  Their  gods,  or 
ours,  guided  us  into  smooth  seas,  and  safely  to  land. 


ITALY      REVISITED. 

Italy  was  doubly  dear  to  me  when  we  landed  at  Brindisi  and 
I  took  my  course  toward  Rome.  After  months  in  Egypt,  Pales- 
tine, Syria,  Turkey,  and  Greece,  it  was  delightful  to  be  again  in 
Rome,  and,  although  my  stay  was  brief,  every  moment  was 
pleasant.  The  city  was  filled  with  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of 
the  world,  coming  for  the  Easter  celebrations.  I  went  for  a  last 
farewell  to  St.  Peter's;  heard  again  the  sweet,  soft  music,  and 
saw  many  familiar  places. 

During  mv  stav  in  Rome  I  met  the  Princess  Aldrobrandini, 


2  34  A  Woman's  Wanderings.  - 

who  graciously  gave  me  her  card,  with  special  permission  to  visit 
her  lovely  villa  at  Frascati.  She  wr.s  very  kind  to  me,  and  told 
of  the  loss  of  an  only  son.  Her  palace  in  the  city,  her  beautiful 
house  and  grounds  in  the  country,  were  as  nothing  to  her  now. 
Through  tiie  kindness  of  a  friend  I  met  Hall  Caine  and  other 
charming  people  on  my  last  day  in  Rome. 

Pleasant  remembrances  are  mine,  sorrowful  too,  as  I  leave  the 
dear  old  city,  going  westward  to  the  sea,  and  along  the  coast 
through  the  lovely  scenery  of  the  Italian  Riviera.  In  the  dis- 
tance was  Corsica.  Nearer  lay  the  island  of  Elba,  recalling 
memories  of  Napoleon  on  that  lonely,  bare,  desolate  dot  in  the 
blue  sea.  Past  historical  places  we  went,  interesting  alike  to  the 
literary  inclined,  the  artist,  or  those  devoted  to  agriculture. 
There,  on  some  cliffs,  Byron  penned  his  inspirations.  There  was 
color  and  brightness  everywhere.  The  hills  were  green,  and  cov- 
ered with  blossoms.  People  were  busy  with  herds,  or  cultivating 
the  soil.  There  were  flashes  of  the  glorious  sea  foaming  on 
jagged  rocks. 

We  went  past  Leghorn,  and  stopped  at  Pisa,  with  its  lovely 
buildings  —  the  Duomo,  Baptistery,  and  famous  Leaning  Tower. 
Unchanged,  bright,  and  fairy-like  it  stands,  as  I  saw  it  years  ago, 
and,  breathless,  stood  upon  its  sloping  summit.  Here  is  where 
Galileo  was  born,  and  here  hangs  the  great  bronze  lamp  in  the 
Cathedral,  which  gave  him  the  idea  of  the  pendulum.  The 
peaceful  Campo  Santa,  "a  group  of  buildings  without  parallel," 
is  also  here,  with  its  shiploads  of  earth  brought  from  Mount  Cal- 
vary. Aside  from  these,  are  charming  views  of  hills,  pine  forests, 
swuft-flowing  river,  and  vistas  of  plain,  with  stately  rows  of  tall 
poplar  trees. 

After  Pisa,  we  came  to  Lereci,  where  the  body  of  Shelley  was 
found.  He  was  drowned  while  sailing  up  the  coast  from  Leg- 
horn. Here  he  was  cremated,  Byron  and  Leigh  Hunt  were 
among  the  others  present.  Strangely  enough,  though  the  body 
was  consumed,  the  heart  was  intact,  and  was  afterwards  buried 
in  the  Protestant  Cemetery  at  Rome. 

The  sea  looked  calm  and  beautiful,  but  I  knew  how  terrible  it 
could  be  at  times.  There  were  the  Apennines,  the  gleaming  Car- 
rara Mountains,  the  charming  Gulf  of  Spezia,  where  was  once 
the  town  of  Luna,  called  the  first  city  of  Etruria  by  Pliny. 


Italy   Revisited.  235 

After  leaving  the  Gulf  of  Si)ezia  we  entered  a  succession  of  tun- 
nels with  only  an  occasional  glimpse  of  daylight  until  Genoa  was 
reached.  It  is  called  Geneva  la  Superba,  and  well  deserves 
the  name,  for  the  situation  is  superb.  Its  magnificent  palaces, 
churches,  and  fine  buildings  loom  up  grandly  above  the  bay. 
Tier  above  tier  the  bright  buildings  stand  above  the  blue  waters, 
commanding  from  every  point  almost  incomparable  views.  Its 
importance  may  be  best  understood  commercially  when  it  is 
known  that  nearly  twelve  thousand  vessels  call  at  its  port  yearly. 
At  the  Dardanelles  and  as  far  as  the  Black  Sea  I  had  seen  old 
Genoese  forts,  telling  of  the  advantage  the  Crusades  were  to 
Genoa,  helping  her  to  become  not  only  mistress  of  the  Western 
Sea,  but  a  power  in  the  East.  Her  days  of  intrigue  and  warfare 
are  over  now,  and  peaceful  and  prosperous  are  her  people. 

Men  are  not  crucified,  as  one  was  here  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
for  he  had  "uttered  words  which  men  may  not  utter."  Our 
senators  are  not  treated  so  now,  but  we  nor  they  are  hampered 
by  Doges,  and  it  makes  a  difference. 

Dickens,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  others  have  told  the  world  of  this 
city,  so  we  leave  it  and  the  many  objects  of  interest. 

We  speed  along  the  coast,  finding  the  same  tiresome  tunnels, 
certainly  no  more  attractive  as  we  go  west. 

Here  is  the  old  town  of  San  Remo,  almost  smothered  in  palms 
and  the  misty  gray  of  the  olives;  it  is  an  odd,  old  tumble-down 
Italian  town,  a  mass  of  arches,  churches,  narrow  and  stone- 
walled streets.  On  the  top  of  a  hill  is  the  hospital  for  lepers,  for 
the  disease  lingers  around  this  old  place.  San  Remo  has  for 
some  centuries  furnished  the  palms  used  every  Easter  in  St. 
Peter's  in  Rome. 

There  is  a  story  told  that  in  raising  the  Egyptian  obelisk  in 
front  of  St.  Peter's,  the  Pope  had  given  orders  that  any  one  who 
spoke  during  the  operation  should  be  put  to  death.  Through 
some  miscalculation  the  ropes  holding  the  enormous  obelisk 
stretched,  and  it  was  about  to  topple  over,  when  a  sea  captain, 
knowing  what  was  needed,  and  being  used  to  giving  orders,  cried 
out,  "Throw  water  on  the  ropes."  It  was  done,  and  the  Pope, 
realizing  the  courage  and  good  sense  of  the  man,  gave  to  the 
captain  what  he  desired  —  that  his  town  should  ever  after  furnish 
the  palms  for  Easter.     Everywhere  throughout  the  town  I  saw 


236  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

quantities  of  palm  leaves  tied  up,  much  as  we  see  celery,  that 
they  might  be  bleached  for  that  purpose. 

The  chief  charm  of  the  Riviera  is  the  unique  situation  of  tlie 
villages.  While  there  are  valleys  with  beautiful  streams  running 
through  them,  the  older  towns  l)uilt  before  the  railroad  was 
known  had  a  fashion  of  settling  upon  crags  and  hills,  with  ever  a 
tall  church  brooding  over  the  clustering  houses  like  a  hen  shel- 
tering her  little  ones  under  her  wing.  Perhaps  they  cared  more 
for  the  view  than  for  water. 

We  pass  Bordighera,  also  noted  for  its  palms,  and  a  place 
Queen  Victoria  visits  occasionally.  Then  we  are  in  Ventimiglia. 
Our  luggage  receives  but  little  attention  from  the  custom-house 
officials.     We  re-enter  the  train,  and  Italy  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 


FRANCE. 

The  French  Riviera  is  a  replica  of  the  Italian;  a  sameness  of 
old  decaying  villas,  palaces,  and  churches,  mixed  with  luxurious 
modern  residences.  Picturesque  old  walls  and  ruined  forts 
crown  the  heights  jutting  out  into  the  sea.  We  go  past  villages, 
lighthouses,  and  shipping.  Chains  and  ranges  of  mountains, 
glistening  with  snow,  almost  cast  their  shadows  over  the  fields 
of  oranges  and  lemons,  which  remind  me  very  much  of  our  glori- 
ous northern  California,  where  the  orange,  palm,  and  pine  kiss 
hands  to  our  snow-clad  Sierras,  and  fear  not  the  snow  banners 
and  cold  blasts  as  they  nestle  in  the  warm  valleys.  Beautiful 
streams  come  from  the  snow  peaks,  as  with  us,  bringing  an 
abundance  of  water. 

Here  are  radiantly  beautiful  valleys  and  rugged  precipices j 
the  peach  trees  are  just  beginning  to  show  the  pink  blossoms,  and 
vines,  in  bacchanalian,  reckless  fashion,  leap  from  walls,  flaunt 
from  trees,  are  now  showing  buds  bursting  into  leaves.  There 
are  broad  roads  winding  in  capricious  turnings  over  the  sides  of 
the  mountains,  and  towns  full  of  legends,  ideal  and  beautiful  in 
situation.  Machicolated  towers  stand  on  the  sheer  scarp  of  hill- 
sides overlooking  the  sea.     There  are  vistas  of  frowning  gorges 


France.  237 

backed  by  the  towering  Alps  on  the  one  side,  and  equally  inter- 
esting views  of  the  sea  on  the  other.  One  needs  to  be  cross-eyed, 
and  have  a  neck  like  an  owl,  to  see  all  as  the  train  speeds  by. 

A  short  run  and  we  are  in  Monaco.  Many  people,  I  fancy, 
know  Monaco  only  as  the  great  gambling-place  of  Europe. 
While  its  fame  has  spread  over  the  world,  its  vices  are  the  usual 
theme,  and  well  deserved,  of  course.  Little,  in  a  way,  being  two 
by  three  miles  in  area,  this  tiny  capital's  influence  and  power 
are  beyond  imagining.  Nature  has  done  so  much,  and  but  little 
else  is  needed  in  this  region.  Greek  civilization  first  took  root 
upon  the  rock  of  Monaco.  Romans  and  Saracens  came  after. 
It  was  finally  given  back  by  Napoleon  I.  to  the  Grimaldi.  They 
restored  their  fortunes  by  the  most  cruel  persecutions  and  extor- 
tions from  the  people.  They  were  starved,  their  lands  confis- 
cated, and  the  prince  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron.  No  such  extor- 
tion is  now  enforced  by  the  present  lord.  He  is  ruler  over  a  few 
streets,  where  are  clustered  the  houses  of  his  two  thousand  sub- 
jects. There  is  no  tax  on  provisions,  and  the  owners  of  boats 
know  they  may  pass  the  pirate  haunts  of  old  in  safety.  The 
world  is  somewhat  different  now. 

The  new  town  above  the  dazzling  bay  is  infested  by  pirates  of 
another  type.  Men  and  women,  clothed  in  all  the  beautiful  cre- 
ations of  the  day,  which  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  could  not  have 
equaled,  fill  the  exquisite  gambling-rooms  of  Monte  Carlo,  and 
take  good  care  of  the  idle  ruler  and  his  subjects  of  Monaco,  who 
is  faithful  to  the  traditions  of  his  house,  that  the  rents  fill  his 
coffers.  The  people  are  not  forced  to  gamble.  They  go,  the 
most  willing  victims  in  the  world,  and,  while  the  few  win,  the 
many  lose.  Those  who  win  boast  of  it;  the  losers  we  hear  noth- 
ing of.  As  a  snare  to  catch  the  wanderer,  everything  beautiful  in 
art  and  adornment  is  there. 

The  Casino  is  a  superb  building  on  a  point  high  above  the  sea. 
Vines  and  semi-tropical  plants  cover  the  sheer  wall.  Above  the 
railwa}^  station,  and  back  of  the  building,  the  gardens  are  lo- 
cated. They  are  well  planned,  the  paths  are  bordered  with 
odoriferous  flowers  and  shrubs,  overshadowed  by  trees  semi- 
tropical  in  character.  There  are  hotels  and  restaurants,  a  music 
kiosk,  where  bands  world-famed  send  forth  strains  of  enthralling 
music. 


238  A   Woman's  Wanderings. 

Here  are  luxurious  reading-rooms,  and,  in  fact,  every  variety 
in  the  way  of  pleasure  is  given  to  attract  those  who  are  easily 
snared.  There  is  no  expense,  and  nothing  is  asked  of  those  who 
wander  through  the  grounds  or  into  the  Casino. 

There  is  a  certain  formula  demanded.  One  presents  a  visiting- 
card  and  you  are  ticketed  and  passed  in.  No  minor  is  allowed 
in  the  Casino,  they  say,  yet  I  saw  girls  and  ])oys  not  over  eigh- 
teen around  the  tables. 

Were  I  an  artist  I  should  wisli  to  study  faces  at  Monte  Carlo, 
as  they  cluster  around  the  tal)les.  Hope,  joy,  dogged  determina- 
tion and  despair  —  all  show  the  intense  strain  of  those  who  play 
long  or  often. 

The  frequenters  can  easily  be  picked  out.  One  often  hears  of 
men  killing  themselves.  What  becomes  of  the  women  who  lose, 
I  wonder.  Except  in  a  few  instances,  I  saw  women  ])etting  as 
heavily  as  men.  Those  putting  the  most  money  on  the  red  or 
black,  or  on  the  numbers  and  mysterious  lines,  were  not  young 
women,  as  a  rule,  but  were  old,  poorly  dressed,  yet  often  over- 
loaded with  jewelry,  with  swollen  eves  and  frowsy  hair.  Hands 
that  handled  gold  and  fingers  from  which  flashed  exquisite 
jewels,  seemed  sadly  in  need  of  soap  and  water. 

As  a  foil  to  these,  wandering  among  the  throngs  or  playing  in 
an  idle,  desultory  way,  Avere  women  in  the  most  ravishing  toil- 
ettes—  the  very  latest  from  Paris,  costly  laces,  furs,  and  dainty 
gowns.  Women  robed  as  one  sees  them  at  balls  and  receptions, 
stand  beside  those  who  wear  the  unpretentious  garments  denot- 
ing the  traveler. 

The  Casino  itself  is  a  splendid  structure.  The  decorations  of 
the  principal  fac^ade  facing  the  sea,  its  two  square  towers  and 
rounded  dome  placed  above  the  theater,  are  magnificent.  On 
the  balcony  and  in  the  arches  are  i)laGed  sculptured  groups  by 
Sarah  Bernhardt  and  Gustave  Dore,  and  other  subjects  represent 
Industry,  Painting,  etc.  It  seems  odd  that  Industry  should  have 
a  niche  here. 

And  yet  the  croupiers  around  the  tallies  are  a  hard-worked  lot. 
They  seem  to  know  instinctively  how  much  belongs  to  thel)ank  and 
what  is  to  be  counted  out  to  the  winners.  It  is  all  in  the  prac- 
tice, I  suppose.  Bright  and  quick  as  they  are  and  must  l)e,  they 
have  their  lessons  in  i)ractice  every  morning,  before  the  crowds 
come  to  play  in  the  afternoons  and  evenings. 


France.  241 

Whether  seen  by  day  or  after  the  Casino  is  lighted,  it  is  gor- 
geously beautiful,  with  decorated  panels,  bas-reliefs,  sculpture, 
painting  and  galleries.  The  Ionic  columns,  vases,  and  cande- 
labras,  are  all  superb.  The  building  truly  is  one  of  the  sights  of 
Europe.  I  do  not  wish  to  attempt  an  accurate  description.  I 
find  in  most  cases  that  accurate  knowledge  of  such  things  is 
needless,  and  life  is  less  burdensome  if  details  are  avoided. 

I  only  know  the  salons  where  the  croupiers  rake  in  the  money 
are  entrancingly  l)eautiful.  I  know,  too,  that  the  air  in  those 
rooms  is  vile;  that  people  who  sit  around  the  roulette  and  trente- 
et-quarante  tables  inhaling  the  refuse  of  each  others'  breath  are 
hastening  the  day  when  they  will  not  need  either  fresh  or  foul  air. 
But  whetlier  the  end  is  reached  in  that  way  or  by  the  shorter 
one  by  pistol  or  poison,  the  quicker  the  end,  the  better,  perhaps. 

Besides,  there  is  never  a  lack  of  people.  They  swarm  like  flies 
around  the  tables.  It  is  their  delight,  and  the  droning,  unceasing 
faites  le  jeu  is  the  music  they  crave.  So,  if  people  are  happy  or 
miserable,  if  they  win  or  lose,  it  is  as  they  desire.  It  is  useless 
to  waste  pity  on  them. 

I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  warm  climate  of  the  Riviera,  I 
was  astonished  to  find  it  as  cold  there  on  the  1st  of  April  as  in 
midwinter  with  us  in  California.  One  day  at  Mentone  it  rained 
heavily  in  the  town  and  valleys.  After  the  storm  was  over  we 
saw  the  mountains,  and  low  down  on  the  hills  over  which  we 
had  driven  in  the  morning,  were  covered  with  new-fallen  snow. 
When  the  sun  shone  it  was  warm  and  pleasant.  We  had  but 
little  sun,  and  the  cloudy  days  were  as  chilly  as  our  foggy  days 
in  winter. 

There  was  one  glorious  day  I  shall  remember  —  a  drive  over 
the  famous  Corniche  road  from  Nice  to  Mentone.  Nowhere  in 
the  distance  of  twenty-four  miles  could  there  be  a  greater  variety 
of  scenery  or  more  glorious  views.  Starting  from  Nice  and  cross- 
ing the  river  Paillon,  which  usually  has  about  enough  water  for 
laundry  purposes,  and  where  most  of  the  washing  of  the  entire 
city  is  done  in  this  stream  by  women,  who  kneel  and  scrub  the 
clothes  on  a  flat  stone,  the  road  ascends  in  tortuous  windings 
up  and  up.  Over  a  broad  and  perfectly  smooth  road  our  horses 
toiled,  startled  often  by  the  whirr  and  flash  of  automobiles  speed- 
ing by  in  reckless  fashion.     The  maritime  Alps  were  in  the  dis- 


242  A  Woman's  Waxdkhixgs. 

tance,  rough  and  nigged  peaks  nearer.  Beautiful  Eza  was 
perched  on  an  ahnost  isolated  point  high  above  the  sea.  There 
were  a  grand  succession  of  ba3^s,  peninsulas,  picturesque  forts, 
and  curious  old  houses  clustering  on  the  hills;  bastions  and 
fortifications  dating  from  the  Roman  period,  l)ut  adding  to  the 
charming  panorama.  It  was  the  one  ideal  day,  and  one  that 
was  worth  all  the  rest.  Palms,  orange,  and  fruit  trees  grow  near 
the  shore.  The  olive  and  prickly  pear  are  like  those  on  our 
western  slopes.  The  magnificent  houses  of  the  wealthy  crowd 
each  other  along  the  whole  distance,  and  always  facing  south. 

And  there  was  the  sea,  with  the  ever-changing,  exquisite  blues 
and  transparent  greens  flecked  with  sun-splashes  or  darkened  by 
floating  cloud  shadows.  One  of  the  most  attractive  scenes  of  the 
day  was  a  fleet  of  fourteen  French  war-vessels  steaming  into  the 
quiet  bay  of  Villefranche. 

We  passed  Turbia,  which  the  lovers  of  Tennyson  will  recall, 
returning  from  Mentone  by  the  lower  road,  which  runs  just  above 
the  sea  the  entire  distance  back  to  Nice. 

I  was  disappointed  in  the  latter  place;  it  is  one  mass  of  white 
houses  with  red-tiled  roofs,  its  wide  promenade  lined  with  im- 
mense hotels.  The  older  part  is  uninteresting.  The  tree-lined 
streets,  gay  shops,  and  suburbs  are  attractive.  The  Promenade 
des  Anglais,  stretching  along  the  shore,  is  the  best  part  of  the 
town.  Aimies  and  its  great  hotels  are  among  the  interesting 
suburbs.  80  is  the  town  of  Grasse,  which  people  visit;  where 
there  are  the  acres  of  flowers  grown  from  which  the  delicious 
perfumes  are  extracted. 

Nice  and  Cannes  may  be  lovely  and  warm  to  people  from  Rus- 
sia and  other  cold  regions,  but  we  found  them  neither  warm  nor 
sunny.  But  this  has  been  an  unusual  spring,  so  I  ought  not  to 
judge  them  by  the  few  days  spent  there. 

Nice  and  Monaco,  it  has  been  said,  are  for  the  extremely 
wealthy  or  the  working  people.  Those  who  have  to  count  pounds 
and  shillings  are  not  wanted.  It  costs  something  for  dainties 
there.  I  priced  some  strawberries.  They  were  one  dollar  and  a 
half  per  pound,  and  other  things  were  in  proportion  in  this  warm, 
sunny  France  we  read  of. 

Not  possessing  the  desired  millions,  and  yet  not  belonging  to 
the  class  who  toil  and  do  the  traditional  si)inning  act,  we  took 


France.  243 

our  way  westward,  still  along  the  womlerful  coast  line,  until  we 
reached  Marseilles.  After  so  much  that  was  grand  in  the  way  of 
scenery,  I  hardly  expected  to  enjoy  the  harlwr  and  fine  streets  of 
Marseilles  as  I  did.  There  are  tine  buildings  and  churches,  and 
a  huge  mosque  reminds  me  of  Cairo.  The  white  coast  and  lovely 
island  of  the  Chateau  d'lf  can  here  be  seen.  The  hillsides  are 
covered  with  villas. 

There  is  one  unparalleled  street,  where  grow  six  rows  of  im- 
mense trees,  making  a  line  promenade  for  people,  with  con- 
venient seats  for  the  idlers.  There  is  room  for  heavy  wagons  on 
either  side,  with  accommodations  for  tram  cars,  and  a  place  for 
lighter  vehicles  in  the  center.  This  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
streets  I  have  ever  seen  in  the  heart  of  any  city. 

Patiently,  and  yet  willingly,  I  again  resumed  my  journey,  and 
after  a  day's  ride,  that  lengthened  to  fourteen  hours,  on  a  fast 
express  train,  I  arrived  in  Paris,  where,  amid  the  seething,  jab- 
bering crowd,  I  saw  once  again  the  familiar  face  of  my  traveling 
companion. 

April,  capricious  and  uncertain,  is  now  near  the  end.  There 
are  many  trees  beginning  to  bud,  while  others  show  tender  green 
leaves.  A  few  warm  days  have  wrought  a  great  change.  It  has 
been  charming,  and  the  warm  weather  will  doubtless  come 
speedily.  Already  I  find  myself  pitying  people  who  will  visit 
the  Exposition  in  the  hot  months. 

Of  course,  the  crowds  are  not  here  yet,  but  the  influx  of  visi- 
tors, the  unmistakable  American,  English,  and  German  element, 
are  in  evidence,  and  help  swell  the  throngs  on  the  already  over- 
crowded thoroughfares. 

In  the  shops  and  on  the  streets  I  see  a  desire  to  cater  to  Americans. 
Our  flag  is  conspicuous,  and  floats  everywhere  with  the  tri-color 
of  France.  The  English  flag  is  not  seen,  except  over  tea-rooms 
and  buildings  where  are  many  of  the  Queen's  subjects.  Germany 
is  not  much  in  evidence,  either,  but  the  old-time  feuds  seem  for- 
gotten in  the  intense  hatred  here  of  the  English  people. 

The  desire  to  please  Americans  is  so  conspicuous  the  veneering 
won't  hold;  it  is  the  money  we  bring  that  interests  them,  and  the 
person  who  possesses  a  grain  of  common  sense  knows  what  it  is 
all  worth.  These  people  are  without  conscience  when  it  comes  to 
money  matters;  that  is,  in  their  transactions  with  strangers. 


244  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

There  are  already  a  good  many  eases  of  ''getting  even"  for  out- 
rageous prices.  Women  think  of  these  things,  and  are  revengefuL 
I  heard  of  a  few  ladies  who  had  been  overcharged  and  cheated  until 
they  could  endure  no  more.  They  ordered  handsome  dresses,  and 
had  them  sent  to  their  hotel  on  the  day  after  they  had  left  Paris 
for  home.  This  was  very  reprehensible,  but  human  nature  is 
pretty  much  the  same  everywhere,  and  can  stand  only  so  much. 
The  wailings  of  the  shop-keepers  on  such  occasions  are  interesting, 
and  were  to  me,  I  confess,  very  satisfactory. 

When  the  days  are  cool,  it  is  something  dreadful  to  go  into  the 
larger  magazines,  such  as  the  Louvre,  or  Bon  Marche,  where  the 
thousands  struggle  and  fight  for  places  at  the  tal)les  or  shelves  — 
well-arranged  counters,  with  stools,  are  unknown.  One  may 
stand  half  fainting,  grasping  for  breath,  in  the  foul  air.  The 
crowd  of  excited  people  taxes  one's  strength,  and  a  desire  to  get 
out  into  the  fresh  air  usually  wins.  I  would  not  endure  much  of 
it,  for  while  it  is  fascinating  to  shop  in  Paris,  I  respect  the  laws  of 
health,  and  am  perfectly  willing  to  give  up  the  world  and  the 
d — ,  dear,  delightful  fashions  of  the  gay  city  —  but  I  draw  a 
line  at  the  flesh  at  present,  so  keep  out  of  them  as  much  as 
possilde. 

After  an  article  is  purchased  one  cannot  wait  in  placid  content 
for  the  change.  No  clerk  is  so  trusted  here.  He  takes  yovi  and 
your  purchase  to  the  cashier;  everything  is  copied;  your  address, 
name,  and  age  is  required;  then  you  may  receive  the  change,  if 
there  is  any,  and  if  you  are  shrewd  you  may  find  out  much  is 
counterfeit  before  leaving  the  store.  In  Italy  they  were  easy  to 
distinguish;  all  the  short-necked  men  on  the  coins  were  good; 
those  who  looked  as  though  their  necks  had  been  "pulled"  were 
bad.  Here  they  are  varied  and  ingenious  in  their  counterfeits, 
but  in  this  world  of  shams  one  gets  accustomed  to  being  on  the 
alert;  so  the  wary  need  not  be  deceived  very  often. 

I  have  visited  all  the  leading  shops  in  Paris  —  Doucet,  Pas- 
quier,  Worth,  Virot,  and  others;  have  seen  their  wonderfully 
beautiful  robes;  sat  while  their  charming  models,  arrayed  in  the 
bewildering  conceptions,  paced  back  and  forth  before  mirrors 
which  reflected  the  faultless  forms  and  robes.  Many  of  these 
dream-like  garments  are  almost  worth  their  weight  in  gold,  and 
onlv  those  who  have  an  unlimited  amount  of  monev  can  afford 


Fkamk.  245 

to  order  recklessly  in  any  of  these  places.  There  is  much  that  is 
tempting  in  the  way  of  artistic  decorations  and  dainty  articles 
of  wear.  The  shop  windows  are  filled  with  articles  so  temj)ting, 
the  average  woman  finds  it  impossible  to  resist,  especially  if  she 
is  a  stranger  here,  though  the  prices  are  higher  for  novelties  than 
in  New  York  or  San  Francisco. 

Prices  jump  according  to  the  appearance  of  the  person.  One 
rainy  day  we  went  into  a  shop,  asked  the  price  of  a  small  fur  boa. 
It  was  sixty-five  dollars.  A  few  days  later,  with  a  change  of 
hat  and  wraps  —  they  did  not  remember  us  —  and  the  same  ar- 
ticle was  eighty  dollars.  They  tell  all  sorts  of  stories  about 
strikes  among  working  men,  and  advanced  wages,  which  are  not 
true.  Excuses  and  subterfuges  hurt  them  not.  These  peoi)le  do 
not  become  brain-weary  in  trying  to  remember  their  lies,  and 
in  many  instances  it  is  laughable  and  absurd.  But  this  is  their 
opportunity,  and  those  who  come  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

Prices  at  hotels,  and,  in  fact,  nearly  everywhere,  and  for  every- 
thing, advance  after  the  1st  of  May.  In  man}^  hotels  the  rates 
were  almost  doubled  after  the  farce  of  opening  the  Exposition 
on  the  15th  of  April,  1900. 

When  the  President  went  to  the  grounds,  escorted  by  soldiers 
with  drawn  swords  and  pistols,  to  officially  announce  the  open- 
ing, which  was  only  a  bluff,  very  little  was  in  order.  There  were 
unfinished  buildings,  mud,  and  debris  everywhere;  and  the  few 
finished  were  empty.  There  was  confusion  and  disorder  every- 
where—  but  the  great  Exposition  of  1900  was  opened,  and  the 
President  escaped  unhurt. 

While  France  takes  the  lead  in  many  things,  it  is  wofully  be- 
hind in  others.  For  example,  in  this  city  of  two  million  in- 
habitants there  are  no  hotels  heated  by  steam  or  hot  air,  yet  it 
is  exceedingly  cold  in  winter.  It  has  been  cold  enough  for  a  fire 
nearly  every  day  since  my  arrival.  For  a  fire  I  had  an  armful 
of  wood.  Each  armful  cost  fifty  cents,  and  an  extra  charge  for 
kindling.  The  matter  of  hot  and  cold  water  baths,  and  such 
comforts  as  we  find  in  our  small  hotels,  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  ordinary  traveler. 

But  the  whole  world  comes  to  Paris.  It  is  alluring,  and  every- 
thing is  here  to  make  one  happy  —  art,  music,  and  drama. 
There  is  life  in  its  best,  or  worst,  phases  — elevating  or  debasing, 


246  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

and  the  visitors  can  be  pleased  in  whatever  direction  their  tastes 
may  run. 

In  the  matter  of  newspapers  there  are  more  illustrated  papers 
than  in  the  whole  of  the  United  States.  The  number  of  papers 
published  daily  in  Paris  is,  I  learn,  something  like  two  thousand 
eight  hundred. 

One  must  not  complain  of  trivial  affairs  when  there  is  so  much 
that  is  good  and  beautiful.  Traveling  is  an  education  in  every 
sense.  There  are  some  disagreeable  things  cropping  up  always, 
but  the  end  justifies  the  work  and  trouble. 

It  is  worth  a  great  deal  to  be  in  the  crowds  thronging  the  beau- 
tiful streets,  yet  pedestrians  have  a  hard  time.  There  are  no 
rules,  golden  or  otherwise,  observed  here.  Self-preservation  is 
the  only  law  known.  No  one  looks  out  for  any  one  else.  One 
must  fight  for  place  on  the  sidewalks,  so  crowded  that  it  is  hard 
to  get  along,  for  a  good  two  thirds  of  the  larger  avenues  and 
streets  are  taken  up  with  tables  and  chairs  three  and  four  deep 
in  front  of  the  numerous  cafes,  where  people,  especially  men,  are 
always  seen  drinking,  smoking,  or  idly  watching  the  passing 
crowds.  There  are  so  many  idlers,  one  often  wonders  at  the 
number.     They  do  not  rush  through  life  as  we  do. 

About  midday  one  may  walk  the  main  streets  and  cross  them 
in  safety,  for  they  observe  the  noontime,  and  are  not  hurried  in 
eating  or  drinking.  Later  there  is  always  a  crush  to  get  through 
the  line  of  omnibuses,  cabs,  automobiles,  wagons,  and  carriages 
that  tear  through  the  streets.  One  must  wait  at  corners  until 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  policeman  is  heard,  which  happens  every 
minute  or  so.  Then  the  great,  sinuous,  seething  mass  of  vehicles 
stop,  like  magic,  long  enough  to  permit  pedestrians  to  cross  in 
safety.  In  smaller  streets  there  is  always  more  or  less  risk,  for 
the  drivers  are  reckless,  and  cabs,  electric  and  steam  cars,  fill  the 
streets. 

The  great  omnibuses,  with  three  or  four  powerful  horses,  bear 
down  on  one  with  the  terrifying  force  of  an  engine.  They  may 
be  stopped  en  route,  if  not  complet,  as  is  usually  the  case,  for 
they  are  not  allowed  to  crowd  omnibuses,  cars,  or  boats  here. 
One  pays  for  a  seat,  and  gets  it.  At  the  stations  or  starting- 
points  it  is  necessary  to  procure  a  ticket  at  the  bureau.  The 
conductors  of  omnibuses  and  tram  cars  call  out  the  numbers.     If 


France.  249 

one  knows  the  numbers  in  French,  and  is  ([uielv,  it  is  })()ssil)le  to 
get  a  seat;  otherwise  you  must  wait  until  the  next  one  comes. 

When  the  crowd  is  here  and  a  few  of  the  sixty-five  milHons 
expected,  I  can  well  imagine  what  transjiortation  will  mean. 
Even  now  the  caV)men  Avill  scarcely  engage  ]>y  the  hour.  One 
day  we  were  refused  l)y  nearly  a  dozen  liefore  one  would  agree  to 
drive  us  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Then  he  had  his  revenge,  for 
the  horse  walked  a  greater  jiart  of  the  afternoon.  It  did  not 
matter,  for  we  were  interested  at  every  turn,  especially  in  the 
Champs  Elysee,  teeming  with  life,  the  never-ending  line  of  cal)s, 
splendid  teams,  private  carriages,  and  automobiles,  all  filled  with 
beautifully  dressed  Avomen,  where  one  sees  the  latest  in  gowns, 
hats,  and  parasols. 

In  place  of  dainty,  sweet-faced  children,  one  sees  in  cabs,  and 
peering  through  the  windows  of  elegant  private  carriages,  or 
resting  cozily  in  unmotherly  arms,  the  shaggy  head  and  form  of 
the  everlasting  French  poodle.  A  believer  in  the  transmigration 
of  souls  might  well  yearn  to  be  a  French  poodle  when  rid  of  the 
weary  earthly  shell;  Init  for  hades  itself,  it  would  only  be  neces- 
sary to  be  encased  in  the  form  of  a  degraded,  forlorn  dog  in 
Constantinople. 

It  is  too  early  yet  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  woods  in  the  Bois, 
yet  one  day  that  was  like  spring — warm,  bright,  and  beautiful 
—  we  went  by  boat  down  the  Seine,  having  a  fine  view  of  the 
Exposition  buildings,  magnificent  bridges,  and  Eiffel  Tower.  As 
we  passed  down  to  St.  Cloud,  the  trees  were  beginning  to  show- 
tender  green  leaves,  lieing  further  advanced  than  in  the  city. 
The  grass  was  filled  with  tiny  blossoms,  and  the  dear,  delightful 
fragrance  of  springtime  filled  the  air.  There  are  exquisite  views 
of  the  river  and  city,  which,  seen  from  the  terrace,  are  surpass- 
ingly beautiful. 

St.  Cloud  is  restful,  after  the  noise  and  bustle  of  Paris.  This 
large,  beautiful  park  Napoleon  loved  so  well  is  where  the  bands 
play  in  summer,  and  fountains  and  cascades  rush  and  ripple  in 
all  the  fascinating  gush  and  murmur  of  water  among  jagged 
rocks.  There  are  quiet  wooded  paths,  and  thousands  throng  the 
charming  walks.  Here,  as  well  as  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  art 
has  aided,  not  defaced,  nature.  One  can  lose  himself  apparently 
in  the  A\-ildest  of  Avoods  if  quiet   is  desired,  or  wander  along  the 


250  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

broad  roads,  where  chatter  and  hiugh  the  pleasure-loving  crowd. 
Marie  Antoinette  once  lived  here.  Bonaparte  caused  himself  to 
be  proclaimed  First  Consul  here.  Blucher's  headquarters  were 
established,  and  from  here  Charles  X.  issued  the  proclamation 
abohshing  the  freedom  of  the  press,  which  caused  the  revolution 
of  .July,  1830.  The  Germans  occupied  St.  Cloud  during  the  siege 
of  1870,  at  which  time  it  was  almost  destroyed.  It  was  for  a 
long  time  neglected,  but  has  been  restored  to  a  great  extent,  and 
is  noAv  one  of  the  most  popular  suburbs  of  Paris. 

We  visited  Sevres  and  saw  the  manufacturing  of  the  china 
which  is  incomparable  in  delicacy,  tinting,  and  finish,  but  which 
is  so  expensive  on  the  ground  where  it  is  made  that  it  takes  one's 
breath  away. 

When  lonesome  I  go  to  the  headquarters  of  the  California 
Commission,  where  an  air  of  quiet  elegance  broods  over  the  grand 
reception-rooms,  which  are  beautifully  furnished.  It  is  restful 
and  homelike,  too,  and  the  genial  Commissioners  welcome  me  so 
cordially,  it  is  like  something  seen  in  dreams.  The  familiar  faces 
and  paintings  of  remembered  places  are  pleasant,  and  a  taste  of 
our  fruits,  nuts,  and  wine  is  delicious,  and  a  comforting  tliought 
comes  to  me  that  even  now  fruit  is  ripening  which  will  await  my 
home-coming. 

A  good  story  illustrating  the  hospitality  of  the  Commissioners 
was  told  me  by  one  of  them.  A  reporter  representing  an  illus- 
trated paper,  who,  it  seems,  thoroughly  understood  the  freedom  of 
the  press,  which  has  fully  recovered  from  the  blow  of  1830,  and 
is  utterly  unlicensed  now,  called  on  them,  and  frankly  told  them 
his  scheme,  which  was  to  blackmail  the  whole  outfit  unless  he 
was  well  paid  for  letting  them  alone.  He  was  treated  nicely, 
given  a  bottle  of  wine  made  from  the  real  juice  of  grapes;  then 
was  told  to  go  and  do  his  deadliest,  and  to  do  it  quickly,  or  he 
would  be  kicked  doAvn  the  stairs.  He  has  not  been  heard  from 
since. 

The  people  are  astonished  at  the  products  of  our  country,  espe- 
cially the  French  people,  who  rarely  travel,  and  are  firm  in  their 
convictions  that  nothing  worth  having  or  enjoying  exists  outside 
of  France,  ignoring  the  fact  that  no  one  country  possesses  all  that 
is  desirable. 

Our  people,  who  are  not  slow  in  adapting  ways  and  means  that 


France.  251 

are  beneficial,  might  well  pattern  after  Paris;  particularly  in  the 
methods  of  street-cleaning  a  few  items  might  be  of  great  l)enefit 
to  us.  In  the  matter,  only,  of  trees  lining  the  streets,  which  make 
them  so  delightful;  a  tree  is  never  cut  down  here.  If  one  dies, 
another  full  grown  is  put  in  the  place  of  it,  and  an  iron  grating 
surrounds  each  tree.  The  pavements  do  not  suffer;'  neither  do 
the  people  who  walk  or  sit  under  the  welcome  shade. 

The  Louvre  has  taken  up  much  of  our  time.  This  immense 
building  and  the  Tuileries,  together,  cover  about  forty-eight 
acres,  and  form  one  of  the  most  magnificent  palaces  in  the 
world,  besides  being  the  most  important  public  building  in  Paris. 
It  is  filled  with  art  treasures,  and  is  so  vast  in  extent  that  it 
is  appalling  to  one  whose  time  is  limited.  An  idea  of  its 
magnitude  may  be  had  when  one  realizes  that  it  takes  two  hours 
to  walk  through  all  the  rooms  without  stopping.  The  collection 
dates  from  the  time  of  the  French  monarchs  of  the  Renaissance 
in  the  sixteenth  century.  It  has  always  been  a  source  of  pride, 
but  the  Louvre  is  iixlebted  to  the  Revolution  for  the  immense 
collection,  as  it  was  then  the  various  treasures  distributed 
throughout  royal  palaces,  churches,  and  suppressed  monasteries 
were  collected  and  centralized  here.  The  valuable  art  treasures 
are  being  constantly  added  to,  for  nearly  every  art  lover  be- 
queaths his  treasures  to  the  Louvre,  which  is  undoubtedly  the 
most  extensive  and  valuable  collection  on  the  Continent. 

When  tired  of  sculpture  and  painting — for,  however  beautiful, 
there  is  nothing  more  wearying  —  we  go  out  and  wander  through 
the  gardens,  said  to  be  the  especial  paradise  for  children,  and 
surely  they  are  lovely  and  delightful  for  everybody. 

From  these  gardens  an  extensive  view  is  obtained  of  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  the  obelisk,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  dimly  seen 
through  the  avenue  of  trees,  the  magnificent  arch  over  the  main 
entrance  of  the  Exposition,  and  the  beautiful  buildings  lining  the 
Seine.  I  look  up  at  the  Louvre,  which  has  echoed  to  music, 
laughter,  and  all  that  pomp  and  power  could  give  or  bring  into 
their  lives  of  enjoyment,  as  Avell  as  treachery  and  deceit,  while 
memory  reverts  to  the  factious  wars,  the  dreadful  revolutions,  and 
terror  of  the  rulers,  when  the  mobs  Avere  victorious,  and  royalty 
lay  prostrate  in  the  dust,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the  many  rulers, 
ending  in  the  departure  of  Eugenie  after  the  battle  of  Sedan. 


252 


A  Woman's  Wanderings. 


I  think  of  the  time  when  she  left  this  massive  pahice,  a  wan- 
derer; and  a  vision  of  the  small  villa  I  saw  near  Monaco,  emhow- 
ered  in  palms  and  vines,  overhanuinti:  the  ^lediterranean,  comes 


ARC    DE    TRIOMPHE,    PARIS. 


to  me,  and  I  wonder  if  she,  with  her  glorious  eyes  looking  sadly 
over  the  waters  and  the  smiling  hills,  ever  turns  them,  yearning 
and  hungering  for  Paris. 

The  busy  crowds  leave  but  little  time  for  reflection;  and  if  by 
chance  one  is  seated  for  a  moment  in  a  chair,  a  female  comes 
with  a  rattle  of  coins  and  collects  a  couple  of  pennies  for  the 
privilege,  and  will  usually  scowl  if  you  do  not  add  a  donation  for 
herself.  They  are  not  backward  here  in  asking  for  their  pour- 
hoire. 

Tipping  is  not  left  to  one's  generosity  or  judgment;  there  is  a 


France.  253 

fixed  tariff  for  hott'ls,  rafh,  cabs,  in  fact,  at  every  turn  one  must 
be  ready  with  coppers.  1  have  been  several  times  in  one  of  the 
largest  V)anking  houses  in  Paris,  and  when  a  servant  in  uniform 
brought  the  money  I  desired,  he  waited  each  time  to  be  paid  for 
carrying  it  from  one  room  to  another.  At  the  hotels  one  is  usu- 
ally informed  as  to  the  amount  to  be  given  each  servant.  Often 
they  need  it  badly,  for  while  the  hotels  charge  up  to  and  often 
beyond  the  line  of  endurance,  they  expect  the  guests  to  pay  their 
servants.  One  waiter  told  me  his  master  paid  him  twenty  francs 
per  month,  or  four  dollars  in  our  money,  yet  he  must  always  wear 
the  regulation  dress  suit  and  immaculate  linen.  Housemaids 
are  paid  in  proportion,  yet  always  look  neat.  How  it  is  man- 
aged is  a  mystery. 

Yet  a  rigid  economy  in  every  detail  accomplishes  much.  I 
learn  that  the  waiters  in  cafes  and  hotels  are  entitled  to  the  bits 
of  meat  left  on  the  plates  of  guests.  These  pieces  are  collected 
and  sold  to  smaller  places,  where  they  are  arranged  in  a  tasteful 
manner,  and  resold  to  customers  who  buy  food  ready  cooked. 
A  student  told  us  that  when  he  first  came  to  Paris  he  stopped 
with  a  French  family,  that  he  might  learn  the  language  quickly, 
but  he  could  not  endure  their  methods.  The  husband  and  wife 
divided  one  egg  between  them  and  would  take  the  bones  from  his 
plate  and  eat  the  bits  he  had  left,  even  while  he  was  at  the  table. 
Ingersoll  once  said,  "Give  me  a  country  where  the  rich  are  ex- 
travagant and  the  poor  are  economical."  France  is  the  ideal 
country  in  this  respect,  I  think. 

We  have  made  several  excursions  from  the  city  while  waiting 
for  the  Exposition  to  be  in  shape  for  enjoyment.  We  have  seen 
Malmaison,  where  Josephine  resided  after  her  divorce,  and  where 
she  died  five  years  later.  The  place  is  wonderfully  beautiful, 
but  nature  had  no  balm  for  her  wounds.  I  wondered  if  Napoleon 
enjoyed  this  retreat  after  Waterloo!  Even  if  so,  the  Prussians 
caused  a  change,  for  he  quitted  the  place  at  their  approach.  In 
the  small  town  of  Renil  is  a  little  church  where  rests  the  Em- 
press Josephine  and  her  daughter,  Queen  Hortense.  We  see, 
too,  the  ponderous  machinery  which  sends  the  water  to  St.  Cloud 
and  Versailles  for  their  beautiful  fountains.  The  picturesque 
aqueduct  on  the  hill  above  Marley,  looking  like  the  old  Roman 
lines,  was  constructed  under  Louis  XIV.,  to  convey  the  water 
now  raised  by  the  hydraulic  machine  below  to  Versailles. 


254  A   Woman's  Wandkrixgs. 

We  drove  through  the  park  and  woods  of  >:?au  Germain,  once 
the  favorite  residence  of  the  early  kings  of  France.  It  is  charm- 
ing and  attractive  enough  to  please  even  the  most  unappreciative. 
Louis  XIV.  was  born  here,  and  here  the  exiled  King  James  II. 
died.  The  Forest  of  San  Germain,  consisting  of  about  eleven 
thousand  acres,  is  beautifully  situated  above  the  Seine,  whose 
tortuous  windings  may  be  traced  as  it  flows  through  Paris,  twelve 
miles  distant.  From  the  terrace  above  the  river  one  has  magnifi- 
cent views  of  the  valley,  the  densely  populated  villages  on  the 
river,  the  forests,  and  well-tilled  fields.  In  the  woods  the  ground 
was  carpeted  with  flowers,  and  the  sun  shone  through  a  green 
mist  of  budding  leaves  and  blossoms  overhead. 

There  was  a  constant  buzz  and  chuck-chuck  of  the  rushing  au- 
tomobiles, which  raise  such  clouds  of  dust  that  people  avoid  the 
roads  frequented  by  them.  The  cyclists  are  out  in  full  force. 
One  sees  very  few  in  Paris,  as  a  special  license  must  be  obtained 
for  the  city.  The  bicycle  girl  does  not  present  the  dainty  ap- 
pearance of  our  girls.  They  wear  sloppy  looking  bloomers,  more 
often  then  otherwise  low  shoes,  with  something  like  a  yard  and  a 
half  of  shapeless  legs,  showing  straight,  calveless,  and  unbeautiful 
as  an  ostrich's;  but  they  enjoy  life. 

Every  one  who  can  walk,  drive,  or  ride  goes  out  of  the  city, 
and  enjoys  the  parks  and  woods.  There  is  no  city  in  the  world 
that  has  such  facilities  for  enjoying  life  as  Paris,  whether  within 
the  city's  limits  or  in  the  various  suburbs. 

Most  of  the  forests  of  San  Germain,  as  in  many  other  parks,  are 
left  in  a  natural  state,  only  there  are  paths  for  pedestrians,  and 
roads  for  riding  and  driving.  Nature,  pure  and  artless,  is  found 
in  the  miles  of  forests,  parks,  and  places  where  the  people  go. 
There  history,  romance,  and  legend  may  be  found,  attractive  and 
instructive,  where  the  wearying  cares  of  life  may  be  cast  aside  and 
humanity  forget  for  a  day,  and  l)e  glad  as  are  the  sweet-voiced 
birds  singing  so  blithely  among  the  fields  and  hidden  recesses  of 
the  woods. 

Expositions  are  like  babies,  interesting  for  a  while,  but  wearying 
when  one  has  too  much  of  them.  I  will  leave  all  details  of  de- 
scription to  those  who  enjoy  it.  Having  seen  several,  there  is  a 
sameness  in  the  general  display  of  all.  I  should  like  to  give  an 
idea,  but  a  pen  dipped  in  ink  cannot  aid. 


Fkanck.  255 

Some  things  here  deserve  special  notice.  The  gorgeous  decora- 
tions of  ])unting  and  artistic  effects  for  which  the  French  are 
famous.  The  vistas  are  certainly  l^eautiful  and  imposing-looking 
from  the  Palace  of  the  Trocadero,  the  Champ  de  ISIars  and  Chateau 
d'Eau.  There  are  multi-colored  kiosks,  pavilions,  architecture 
of  all  nations  —  waving  flags  and  striking  effects  in  color  scheme. 
Of  mural  paintings,  the  frescoes  and  allegorical  designs  are  be- 
yond anything  I  saw  at  Chicago.  The  Hotel  des  Invalides  at  the 
end  of  the  esplanade,  wherein  is  the  tomb  of  Napoleon, the  Champs 
Ely  see,  the  Seine  in  curves  with  its  magnificent  bridges  —  make 
up  a  total  that  is  worth  much  to  see.  Still  there  is  nothing  here 
that  equals  the  great  Court  of  Honor  at  Chicago.  In  some  of  the 
ornamental  and  fairy-like  palaces  l^ordering  the  Seine,  they  equal 
or  excel,  but  the  general  effect  cannot  compare  with  the  White 
City.  The  Salon  of  Honor  and  Salles  des  Fetes  are  the  locale  of 
the  American  electrical  exhibits.  We  were  special  guests  of  the 
United  States  Commission  at  the  opening  exercises  of  the 
United  States  Pavilion.  We  scarcely  realized  how  many  Amer- 
icans were  in  Paris  until  we  saw  the  crowds  which  charged  into 
the  building  and  filled  the  whole  of  the  rotunda.  From  the  first 
gallery  we  heard  the  speeches,  listened  to  Sousa's  incomparable 
music  and  looked  down  upon  a  better-dressed  and  finer-looking 
crowd  of  people  than  I  had  seen  since  we  left  America.  The 
building  is  fine,  but  so  hemmed  in  In"  others  that  it  makes  a 
poor  showing.  Italy  and  little  Monaco  have  Ituildings  with 
ample  grounds  and  show  to  far  greater  advantage  than  do  ours. 

Our  country  is  not  represented  as  it  should  be.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  the  United  States  Ijuilding.  It  is  bare  and  unattractive. 
Other  countries  have  their  pavilions  filled  with  articles  that  are 
worth  looking  at  —  worth  remembering.  Ours  is  a  sort  of  con- 
versation hall,  nothing  more  —  nothing  to  attract  or  arrest  the 
attention  of  people  who  are  not  specially  interested.  There  is 
nothing  that  I  have  discovered  here  that  Americans  can  look  at 
with  pride  or  pleasure. 

In  the  Swiss  village  that  has  taken  over  two  years  to  build  it  is 
quite  different.  One  falls  in  love  with  the  people  and  the  coun- 
try so  faithfully  represented,  and  wanders  through  streets  whose 
houses  have  been  transported  from  Switzerland.  There  are  real 
mountains  with   trees  and   grassy   slopes,  waterfalls   and    quiet 


256  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

pools.  Goats  clamber  about.  There  are  stables  and  stalls, 
where  are  kept  cows  which  furnish  fresh  milk,  and  cheese- 
making  is  shown.  In  fact,  life  in  all  its  phases  goes  on 
in  this  small  village.  The  work  and  various  industries  of  the 
country  may  be  seen  and  understood  by  those  not  familiar  with 
Swiss  methods.  Far  up  on  the  crags  of  the  mountains  were 
miniature  chalets.  Near  a  waterfall  I  heard  again  the  Alpine 
horn,  and  the  jodel  from  an  answering  peak.  It  was  all  real,  as 
when  I  listened  to  them  last  year.  No  one  can  visit  that  village 
without  a  desire  to  see  the  country  from  which  they  come.  The 
very  idea  is  alluring. 

I  turn  from  thoughts  of  the  Exposition  to  Versailles,  which 
we  visited  on  the  first  Sunday  in  May.  Anything  worth  seeing  in 
France  must  be  seen  on  a  Sunday,  or  not  at  all.  This  day  is  set 
apart  every  year  as  the  one  gala  day  when  all  the  fountains  play. 
As  it  costs  ten  thousand  francs  for  the  grand  display,  it  is  worth 
seeing.  We  went,  of  course,  to  the  historical  old  place  that 
knew  the  zenith  and  the  decadence  of  Louis  XIV.;  saw  the  grand 
palace  that  knew  the  disreputable  Pompadour  and  Du  Barri. 
The  fetes  given  here  were  offset  in  their  splendor  by  the  terrors 
of  the  vicious  Parisian  mobs,  augmented,  influenced,  and  urged  on 
by  the  presence  of  thousands  of  women.  Napoleon  and  the 
Bourbons  neglected  this  palace  after  it  was  sacked  under  Louis 
XVI.,  and  Louis  Philippe  restored  the  building.  The  King  of 
Prussia  used  this  palace  as  a  military  hospital,  and  here  he  was 
saluted  as  German  Emperor.  After  McMahon  directed  the  strug- 
gle against  the  outbreak  of  the  Commune,  the  seat  of  government 
was  removed  to  Paris,  and  this  old  palace,  for  some  twenty-odd 
years,  has  known  peaceful,  quiet  times,  after  war's  fierce  strug- 
gles. 

Happy  people  wander  through  those  vast  historical  rooms.  The 
number  and  immensity  of  the  chambers  and  galleries  try  one's 
endurance,  even  for  a  hasty  survey.  The  superbly  decorated 
halls,  statues,  and  paintings  are  replete  with  interest.  The  walls 
of  parti-colored  marbles  and  bronze  bas-reliefs  are  historical  and 
allegorical.  The  ceilings  are  by  Le  Brun.  The  Gallerie  des 
Batailles,  which  is  132  yards  in  length,  gives  an  idea  of  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  building.  Here  are  the  furniture  by  Buhl,  of  gilded 
bronze  and  tortoise  shell,  mural  decorations,  rich  hangings,  and 
carvings  of  the  bed  in  the  room  where  Louis  XIV.  died. 


France.  257 

The  room  of  tlu'  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette,  from  which 
she  rushed  in  terror  when  the  mob  broke  into  the  palace  on 
that  memorable  night  in  October  in  1789,  and  the  chambers  of 
the  gay  Du  Barri,  and  the  door  admitting  her  to  the  chamber  of 
Louis  XV.,  were  shown  us. 

There  is  something  of  historical  interest  attached  to  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  palace,  which,  since  the  sixteenth  century, 
has  l)een  mixed  and  intermingled  with  the  history  of  the  French 
court  until  the  seventies.  The  history  of  its  foundation,  of  the 
lives  sacrificed,  and  fabulous  sums  expended  in  building  the  pal- 
ace and  laying  out  the  grounds,  is  like  a  story  of  the  Arabian 
Nights.     The  place  is  charming  and  fairy-like. 

Even  now  the  gardens  are  a  delight  to  all  lovers  of  nature, 
though  nature  in  them  was  subjected  to  laws  of  symmetry,  geo- 
metrical rules,  and  architectural  designs.  From  them  the  palace 
is  seen  to  good  advantage.  The  facade,  which  is  over  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  in  length,  is  grand  in  its  immensity. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  park  is  the  Grand  Trianon  erected 
for  Madame  de  Maintenon  by  Louis  XIV.,  a  one-story  villa  in 
the  midst  of  lovely  grounds.  When  it  was  finished,  Louis  told 
his  fair  one  that  he  had  created  a  paradise  for  her,  and  asked  if 
there  was  any  one  thing  lacking  she  could  suggest.  She,  think- 
ing it  impossible,  said  a  sleigh  ride  under  the  green  trees  and 
swaying  vines  was  the  only  thing  lacking.  The  impossible  to 
her  was  possible  to  her  admirer,  for,  on  the  following  day,  she 
had  her  sleigh  ride  over  miles  of  snowy  salt  and  sugar  spread  on 
roads  that  led  through  green  forests. 

^Vhat  recollections  come  to  one  while  passing  from  one  histori- 
cal room  to  another.  In  one  of  the  handsomely  furnished  rooms 
is  a  table,  which  is  made  of  a  single  piece  of  oak,  and  measures 
nine  feet  across,  which  they  are  very  proud  of.  What  was  of 
more  importance  to  me  were  the  exquisite  vases  of  malachite, 
and  Sevres  porcelain,  and  state  carriages  used  by  Napoleon 
First  at  his  coronation,  and  the  historical  sledges. 

We  enjoyed  the  Petit  Trianon,  loved  by  Marie  Antoinette. 
Here  were  the  quaint,  lovely  old  gardens,  beautiful  trees  and 
lakes,  and  the  small  cottages  where  the  court  ladies  played  at 
peasant  life.  From  these  my  mind  flies  to  Paris,  and  the  dread- 
ful guillotine,  where  poor  Marie  Antoinette's  life  ended  at  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde. 


258  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

We  drove  through  the  l)cautiful  park  until  the  time  came  — 
the  crowning  feature  of  the  day  —  when  the  fountains  play.  The 
display  lasts  for  a1)out  twenty  minutes  only.  Great  crowds  come 
and  wander  at  will,  as  they  are  free  to  all.  The  effect  was  the 
more  wonderful  for  being  artificial,  and  reminded  me  in  a  small 
degree  of  some  of  the  geysers  in  Yellowstone  Park.  Thovisands 
of  people  witnessed  the  gushing,  foaming  water,  which  seemed  to 
come  from  hundreds  of  unseen  sources. 

There  were  picturesque  groupings  under  the  great  trees,  or 
loitering  and  wandering  in  shaded  paths,  resting  on  grassy  knolls, 
enjoying  the  warm,  fragrant,  delightful  spring  da}',  which  show- 
ered blossoms  from  the  trees  with  every  gust  of  wind. 

I  have  had,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  days,  nothing  but  one 
continual  spring  since  the  first  of  January,  when  I  arrived  in 
Egypt.  Buds  and  blossoms,  tender  young  leaves,  grass  and  grow- 
ing grain  have  greeted  me  everywhere.  Yet  one  never  tires  of  the 
awakening  life  that  comes  with  the  thrushes  and  swallows.  In 
Syria,  Asia,  and  Greece  it  was  the  same  through  the  weeks  and 
months,  until  now  old  mother  earth  is  warming  up  under  the 
glowing  sun  in  France;  and  the  soft  winds  —  the  trumpet  of  a 
prophecy  —  tell  that  spring  has  come. 

Paris  is  as  charming  as  her  environs.  The  streets  are  incom- 
parable, as  are  the  parks,  gardens,  and  glittering  fountains,  the 
Champs  Elysee,  and  bewildering  array  of  buildings  lining  the 
Seine.  There  are  never-ending  vistas  of  river,  bridges  al)ove 
the  swift  water,  where  countless  boats  rush  and  flash  by  in  the 
sun  and  under  dark  arches;  there  are  untold  thousands  of  people 
who  loiter  along  the  boulevards  and  avenues,  who  sit  at  cafes  and 
restaurants,  eating  and  drinking.  All  sorts  of  vehicles,  horses, 
and  automobiles  rush  l^y.  There  is  so  much  to  see  and  enjoy  at 
ever)'  turn,  that  the  Exposition  is  not  of  great  importance  to  the 
travelers,  though  the  buildings  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  attention, 
even  if  one  has  not  the  energy  to  inspect  the  inside  of  them. 

At  the  Luxembourg  the  paintings  in  the  galleries  were  not 
fascinating  to  me.  "The  Reign  of  Terror"  or  "Kiss  of  Judas" 
was  not  of  much  importance  either.  Outside  in  the  air  a  dream 
of  perfume  kissing  my  brow  was  sweeter  than  ghost-haunted  halls. 
There  was  calm  in  the  sensuous  mystery  of  the  place  and  the 
breezes  from  lilacs  and  rhododendrons  seemed  filled  with  whis- 


Fkantk.  259 

peringsof  past  years  of  love,  of  deatli,  as  tliough  perturlx'd  spirits 
were  haunting  these  gardens,  the  trysting-places  of  days  of  yore. 

The  Cluny  Museum,  with  its  mediceval  curiosities  and  quaint 
carvings,  and  the  Madehune  and  Notre  Dame  churches,  have 
claimed  some  of  our  time. 

Once  again  I  stood  under  the  dome  in  the  Hotel  des  Invalides 
and  saw  the  blue  mist  streaming  through  the  stained  glass  win- 
dows far  above  me,  and  looked  down  u})on  the  sarcophagus  of 
Napoleon.  I  saw  the  tattered  flags  and  thought  of  the  battle 
scenes  of  his  conquests;  thought  of  the  plains  of  Moscow,  where  I 
wandered  last  summer;  of  Austerlitz,  Marengo,  Egypt,  and  the 
Pyramids,  and  desert  sands,  and  Russia's  frozen  blasts,  which 
scattered  his  army  like  leaves  in  an  autumn  storm.  I  thought, 
too,  how  this  man  pushed  from  his  heart  the  only  woman  who 
ever  loved  him,  to  aid  him  in  his  ambition  —  of  his  methods  and 
vicious  disposition,  his  warring  instincts,  which  left  the  bodies  of 
Frenchmen  rotting  over  half  the  world.  Great  in  many  ways, 
yet,  with  all,  he  stooped  to  the  common  level  and  declared  that 
all  calamities  and  contentions  were  due  to  the  arts  of  women. 

He  rests  by  the  Seine,  but  his  restless  spirit  seems  to  pervade 
the  multitude.  A  mad  ambition  possesses  these  boastful  people. 
The  future  will  tell  whether  it  will  be  augmented  and  maintained. 
My  prophecy  will  be  that  they  will  have  but  little  pity  from  the 
world  when  they  are  binding  their  sheaves  of  regret.  In  the  gal- 
leries here  and  at  Versailles  the  people  crowd  around  pictures  of 
battles,  of  conquests  depicting  the  struggles  in  Europe  and  from 
China  to  Mexico  where  Frenchmen  have  fought  and  stained  the 
earth  with  their  blood.  Nowhere  have  I  seen  any  reminder  of 
Leipsic  or  Waterloo  to  indicate  to  these  people  what  might  be  in 
store  for  them.  Pride  is  a  fearsome  thing.  It  is  even  now 
drowning  sense  and  discretion.  Another  disaster  fully  as  bitter 
as  the  lesson  the  Germans  gave  may  await  these  people.  As  they 
sow,  so  let  them  reap. 

These  people  are  erratic;  it  is  a  country  of  pertur))ed  Ijrains;  a 
soiiffle  atmosphere  pervades  the  masses.  The  people,  vain  and 
selfish,  rate  their  customs,  country,  and  language  as  jwr  excel- 
lence. Anything  outside  their  l)orders  is  not  to  the  ordinary 
Frenchman  worthy  a  thought.  They  are  not  aware  that  it  is  a 
country  of  farces.     The  niceties  of  conventional  forms  are  rigidly 


260  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

observed;  they  are  exacting  in  matters  of  honor;  they  will  fight 
duels,  not  to  the  death,  but  at  the  point  of  a  sterilized  sword.  If 
only  a  drop  of  blood  is  drawn,  rules  have  been  followed,  though 
honor  and  sword  are  alike  usually  untarnished.  As  a  rule,  they 
enjoy  life,  and  are  not  given  to  the  hurry  and  go-ahead  we  are 
accustomed  to.  The  fire  department  rush  to  fires  in  automo- 
biles; the  undertakers  solicit  orders  in  the  same  swift  way.  A 
fire  or  prospect  of  a  funeral  are  about  the  only  things  which 
seem  to  demand  a  rushing  business. 

We  have  seen  "  Salambo  "  at  the  Grand  Opera  House.  The 
immense  building  covers  over  three  acres  of  ground.  The  in- 
terior is  beautiful,  the  decorations  elegant  and  harmonious,  but 
the  boxes  are  badly  arranged  and  the  ventilation  bad.  The  long 
waits  between  acts,  when  the  people  leave  their  seats  to  prom- 
enade in  the  halls,  foyer,  balconies,  and  stairways,  breathing 
fresh  air,  are  restful. 

There  is  one  charming  custom  here.  Women  leave  their  seats 
and  go  out  in  the  halls,  resting  and  chatting  with  their  escorts. 
If  liquid  refreshments  are  needed,  the  women  share  in  the 
pleasure.  No  man  ever  excuses  himself  to  go  out  and  "  see  an- 
other man "  in  France.  In  all  the  theaters  refreshments  are 
served  in  the  buildings.  In  some  there  are  large  halls  where 
bands  play  between  acts,  while  the  people  promenade  or  sit  at 
tables,  eating,  drinking,  and  watching  the  promenaders. 

Among  them  one  sees  a  goodly  number  of  women  dressed  in 
all  the  gorgeousness  of  the  lilies  of  the  field  which  Solomon  could 
not  imitate.  These  sirens,  who  rigidly  follow  the  rule  which 
enables  them  to  perceive  morality  and  virtue,  and  how  to  avoid 
the  same,  understand  fully  the  arts  of  dress,  and  make  beautiful 
pictures  dressed  in  the  latest  dreams  the  best  houses  of  Paris  can 
furnish.  Young  and  beautiful,  they  flit  through  the  best  thea- 
ters, like  veritable  butterflies.  That  the  slums  and  morgue  lie 
further  on  does  not  worry  these  fairy-like  creatures.  They  have 
their  l)rief  hour  and  apparently  enjoy  their  chosen  paths. 

From  the  top  of  the  Eiffel  Tower,  one  thousand  feet  alcove  the 
city,  we  gazed  down  as  one  looks  upon  a  map.  The  streets  seemed 
mere  threads,  and  the  houses  small  and  toy-like,  accentuated  by 
tnll  towers  looking  like  exclamation  points  through  the  dense 
city.     A  grand  panorama  of  country,  green  and  beautiful,  showed 


France.  2CA 

a  splendid  liackground  on  every  side,  the  Seine  curving  like  some 
great,  glistening  serpent  through  it.  Comparatively  few  of  the 
thousands  who  daily  come  to  admire  this  wonderful  structure 
make  the  ascent,  but  while  it  almost  takes  one's  In-catli  away,  it 
is  worth  it. 

We  have  seen  the  vast  concourse  of  people  who  attend  the 
races,  where  the  horses  run  on  the  greensward  as  they  do  in 
England.  Here  the  gay  life  of  the  Parisians,  their  moods  and 
manner  of  enjoying  themselves,  can  be  observed  and  appreciated. 
Among  the  crowd  of  beautifully  dressed  women  one  can  distin- 
guish the  ''  models  "  which  the  best  houses  dress  up  and  send  out 
as  an  advertisement.  That  many  of  the  "creations"  are  more 
fit  for  receptions  and  evening  wear  does  not  count.  It  is  the 
proper  thing  to  do,  and  is  a  very  attractive  mode  of  advertising. 

We  have  seen  for  the  last  time  some  of  our  favorite  paintings 
and  pieces  of  sculpture,  the  Venus  of  Milo  and  others  that  appeal 
to  one.  Letting  the  trivial  and  insignificant  go,  it  is  good  to 
revel  in  the  land  of  art,  of  harmony,  forgetful  of  the  meagerness 
of  wisdom  and  poverty  of  soul  and  jarring  discords  one  encoun- 
ters in  the  active  life  of  the  outside  world.  Beautiful  recollec- 
tions will  remain  of  paintings  on  the  walls  of  the  Louvre,  where 
life  seemed  a  poem,  with  rhythm  and  meter  perfect.  In  the  world 
of  paintings  it  is  so  easy  to  remember  the  Ijeautiful  and  tender, 
restful  things,  just  as  it  is  in  the  world  one  can  find  much  of  good 
and  much  of  evil.     It  is  according  to  the  seeker. 

We  have  wandered  through  the  dim  aisles  of  Pere  Le  Chaise 
Cemeterey  and  have  seen  the  tomb  of  Abelard  and  Heloise. 
After  life's  sorrows,  they  rest  side  by  side,  under  the  green  canopy 
of  waving  trees.  Flowers  are  blooming,  carefully  watched  and 
guarded.  The  warm  atmosphere  seemed  to  breathe  of  love.  It 
seemed  a  fitting  place,  and  more  desirable  than  the  vaults  in  the 
gloomy  Pantheon,  where  rest  Mirabeau,  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and 
Victor  Hugo. 

In  the  warm  light  of  the  evening's  sun  we  go  from  the  ceme- 
tery, pause  upon  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and  Hsten  to  the  bells 
from  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  ringing  out  clear  and  melodious. 
Sorrowing  tones  strike  the  heart;  others  with  a  touch  of  gladness, 
too;  tones  that  give  strength  and  assurance,  reaching  down  into 
the  desolate  chambers  of  that  horror,  under  the  shadow  of  the 


262  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

great  spire  —  the  Morgue  —  where  so  many,  many  are  taken 
dripping  from  the  river,  to  lie,  with  set,  open  eyes,  while  the  pres- 
sing, unsavory,  curious  crowd  push  and  thrust  each  other  aside 
through  days  and  nights  to  gaze  on  the  gruesome  forms  who  are 
waiting,  waiting  through  clamorous  days  and  noisy  nights  for 
some  one  to  claim,  to  take  them  out  of  that  dreadful  place  and 
hide  the  poor  blotched  faces  from  the  rabble.  Poor  indeed  are 
the  dead  who  after  days  find  no  tender  recognition  from  friends 
or  relations  to  take  them  to  a  quiet  spot  to  rest  after  life's  fierce 
struggle.  But  whether  the  lone  grave  or  public  ditch,  this  city  is 
not  disturbed.  The  same  scenes  are  enacted  year  by  year.  The 
bells  ring  on  —  and  we,  too,  go  on. 

But  the  days  go  by,  and  we  take  our  last  look  at  the  Exposi- 
tion by  day,  and  at  night  also.  We  see  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, 
and  Champs  Ely  see,  which  look  like  fairyland,  with  the  myriads 
of  colored  lights  glowing  amid  the  foliage,  or  in  festoons  from 
tree  to  tree.  There  are  kiosks,  ca/e.s,  and  beautiful  buildings. 
We  go  through  the  streets,  some  brilliant  with  life  and  lights,  an 
animated  mass  of  humanity,  each  living  his  little  comedy  or 
tragedy  of  life. 

Up  at  Montemarte,  I  saw  the  great  arms  of  the  Moulin  Rouge, 
turning  and  throwing  crimson  flashes  of  light,  which  pierced  the 
gloom  of  the  streets,  beckoning  and  inviting  the  passer-by  into 
the  sin-haunted  halls.  It  sends  one  adrift  upon  the  vast  sea  of 
thought,  which  is  saddening,  for  the  conviction  comes  over  one 
that  vice  flourishes  in  there,  while  virtue  starves  in  the  alle3^s 
within  its  sight  and  hearing. 

A  little  trip  down  the  river,  and  one  more  glance  at  the  life  in 
the  country.  We  hear  the  music  of  the  larks;  look  upon  old 
walls  covered  with  mosses  and  trailing  vines;  see  the  flood  of 
sunshine  inundating  the  land;  see  the  horses  go  slowly  along 
under  the  great  trees  lining  the  roads,  where  bees  and  insects 
hum  among  the  fragrant  blossoms.  The  washerwomen  are  busy 
by  the  running  streams.  Youths  and  maidens  are  loitering 
along  quiet  paths.  Up  in  the  azure  sky  are  some  circling  swal- 
lows. A  little  child,  laughing,  holds  up  her  tiny  hands,  entreat- 
ing them  to  come  to  her.  A  flash  of  Avings,  and  they  are  off  and 
lost  in  the  mists  of  the  setting  sun.  It  is  our  last  day,  and  we, 
too,  like  the  birds,    are    ready    to  sail    westward    to  home   and 


England  Once  More.  263 

friends.  May  our  ship  sail  peacefully  over  sun-kissed  seas  to 
our  own  fair  land,  and  we,  like  the  birds,  find  rest  after  our 
travels  are  ended. 

My  hushand  had  come  to  France  to  escort  me  liome.  After 
wandering  for  over  a  year,  it  Avas  strange,  but  comforting,  to  have 
one  to  take  the  burden  of  travel  from  me,  which  we  shifted, 
eagerly,  gladly,  to  him. 


ENGLAND     ONCE     MORE. 

It  scarcely  seemed  like  our  own  language,  the  Queen's  English, 
that  greeted  our  ears  when  we  arrived  in  England  from  France. 
I  had  traveled  so  long  among  foreign  people,  hearing  strange 
languages,  that  it  was  like  a  dear,  familiar  friend  seen  after  years 
of  absence,  the  same,  yet  not  entirely  so;  there  was  such  a  misfit 
of  h's,  the  " 'otels,"  " 'ansoms,"  and  "homnibuses"  upon  which 
we  clambered  up  the  spiral  staircases  to  the  "  houtside  "  because 
we  could  see  so  much  better  than  on  the  "hinside";  this  was 
not  strictly  according  to  our  mode  of  traveling  at  home,  but  we 
were  still  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  conventionali- 
ties, rules,  and  social  forms  must  await  our  home-coming. 

I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  omnibus  rides  in  London,  as  one 
could  see  better  than  when  in  a  carriage  or  hansom  cab.  It  was 
comforting  to  read  the  names  in  good  plain  English,  especially 
streets  one  has  known  from  our  earliest  recollections.  There 
was  a  fascination  in  them,  the  names  recalling  forgotten  hours 
spent  with  Dickens,  —  hours  of  reading  through  a  blurred  vision, 
scenes  which  now  rise  before  me,  realistic  and  enduring,  for  Lon- 
don streets  and  names  are  not  subject  to  varying  moods;  they 
are  sure  and  steadfast.  Bayswater  Road,  Oxford,  Holborn.  Cheap- 
side,  Bishopsgate  streets  were  all  seen  once  more. 

The  parks  and  gardens  were  looking  superb.  We  took  long 
trips  in  the  country,  now  at  its  best,  for  June  is  at  hand,  and  the 
fields  in  England  can  scarcely  be  equaled,  as  they  were  one 
mass  of  bloom  and  tender  verdure,  sweet  and  fresh  with  frequent 
showers,  sparkling  under  the  sun's  warm  rays.     There  are  such 


264  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

beautiful  effects  in  the  low-lying,  well  modulated  hills  enveloped 
in  a  soft  blue  haze,  and  valk\ys  and  bosky-places,  with  cluster- 
ing trees  which  encircle  the  castle  of  some  titled  person,  or  per- 
haps one  of  the  dear  old  red  farm-houses  one  often  sees  almost 
smothered  in  its  dark  and  light  patches  of  green  foliage.  There 
are  gables  and  chimney-tops  of  castles  or  abbeys  which  add  to 
the  landscape,  and  leave  an  ineffable  impression  upon  me.  In 
whatever  direction  one  may  glance,  history  adds  to  the  charm  — 
touching,  emphasizing,  and  refining.  The  hand  of  time  has 
added  to  the  historical  value  of  this  old  country,  upon  which  one 
loves  to  look  and  revel  in  with  a  peculiar  tenderness.  It  is  like 
an  exquisitely  modulated  poem,  rhythm  and  meter  perfect;  no 
startling  effects,  but  a  country  of  irresistible  charm. 


HOMEWARD     BOUND. 

And  now  the  weather-vane  of  my  life  has  ceased  its  shifting 
moods.  It  points  straight  toward  the  sunset  route,  and  the  wind 
blows  strong  and  fresh,  for  we  have  left  England,  embarking  at 
Liverpool.  We  are  on  the  great,  stanch  ship  Oceanic,  and  are 
speeding  toward  the  New  and  away  from  the  Old  World. 

The  voyage  on  this,  the  largest  of  all  ocean  steamers,  was  de- 
lightful. While  the  Oceanic  is  a  larger  boat  than  the  St.  Paul, 
it  is  not  any  more  comfortable  or  luxuriantly  furnished.  There 
is  not  the  social  life  on  these  large  steamers  that  is  found  on 
smaller  vessels.  There  are  roomy  decks,  cozy  nooks,  immense 
libraries,  where  people  sit,  read,  write,  or  play  games.  There  are 
music  and  dancing  in  the  evenings,  concerts  and  varied  enter- 
tainments to  while  away  the  time,  as  the  great  ocean  greyhound 
plowed  through  the  sparkling  waters.  The  passengers  were 
animated,  and  a  different  expression  was  on  the  faces  of  most  of 
the  people  from  that  I  noticed  on  the  outward  journey.  This 
was  the  home-coming  for  the  greater  portion  of  the  passengers, 
and  satisfaction  showed  on  their  countenances.  There  was  no 
rough  weather  at  all,  and  the  time  passed  rapidly,  for  we  made 
the  three  thousand  miles  in  less  than  six  days. 


HoMKWAiU)  Bound.  265 

How  can  I  descril)e  the  joy  that  filled  mj'  heart  when  the 
shores  of  my  own  country  first  greeted  my  eyes  through  the  gray 
atmosphere  of  the  sea,  or  what  emotions  took  possession  of  me 
while  sailing  up  the  stream.  I  saw  the  grand  Statue  of  Liberty, 
the  great  city,  and  thousands  of  flags  waving  in  the  fresh  morn- 
ing's breeze.  No  one  who  has  not  wandered  away  from  home  and 
friends  can  understand  the  pleasure  of  being  once  more  among 
their  own.  I  simply  drank  deep  breaths  of  calm,  sweet,  glad- 
ness, and  gazed  about  me  so  eagerly  that  my  "seeing  machinery'' 
was  out  of  order  and  needed  a  rest.  I  was  trying  to  see  every- 
thing at  once,  and  was  in  danger  of  having  curvature  of  vision, 
and  a  chance  of  never  having  a  good,  straight  stare  again. 

Almost  as  good  as  being  under  the  flag  of  freedom  was  the  joy 
of  being  once  more  in  a  car,  where  everything  necessary  for  con- 
venience and  comfort  were  around  me.  I  could  almost  have 
fallen  on  the  neck  of  the  colored  porter,  and  wept  with  delight  at 
having  one  at  hand  to  meet  my  every  demand,  to  arrange  for 
comfort  and  rest,  for  the  journey  of  three  thousand  miles  west- 
ward was  to  be  a  poem,  as  every  shining,  glinting,  steel-threaded 
mile  was  over  a  land  rich  and  prosperous. 

Often  as  I  have  made  the  journey  from  ocean  to  ocean,  I  never 
before  fviUy  realized  the  vast  extent,  the  beauty,  and  greatness  of 
this,  my  native  land,  as  we  passed  from  the  more  densely  popu- 
lated Eastern  States  to  the  well-tilled  prairie  lands  of  the  Middle 
West.  What  is  language  to  the  deaf  mute,  or  the  glorious  sun- 
shine or  pale  moonbeams  to  the  blind?  Every  state  is  a  gem  in 
color-scheme  and  variety,  every  mile  of  plain  or  cloud-wreathed 
peak  needs  pages  of  description,  so  it  is  useless  for  me  to  try  to 
make  any  one  who  has  not  seen  comprehend  its  glories.  But  the 
wheels  whirr  and  rush  me  on  to  the  great  deserts,  where  the 
winds,  strong  from  the  alkaline  plains,  come  hot  and  unpleasant. 

Across  the  Humboldt,  with  its  miles  of  sagebrush  stretching 
to  bare,  bleak  hills,  and  that  Salt  Sea,  lying  quiet  and  as  death- 
like as  that  other  sea  over  against  the  Moab  Mountains.  A  little 
farther,  and  the  Sierras  show  white  and  fair.  The  sound  of  many 
waters  come  to  my  ears  as  we  climbed  the  eastern  ridges.  Then 
the  loved  Sierra's  crest  is  reached.  The  l)lood  rushes  through 
my  veins  and  the  heart  is  glad.  My  eyes  ache  with  the  strained 
effort  to  encompass  the  whole  beautiful  laml,  my  land!  that  is 


266  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

fragrant  with  odors  of  spruce  and  pine,  wafted  down  to  the 
clover  fields,  where  butterflies  dance  and  bees  drone,  while  birds 
sing  among  the  flower-laden  boughs  of  the  orange  groves. 

From  the  Sierra's  slopes  I  gaze  upon  boundless  verdant  plains. 
I  see  the  dim  coast-line,  where  breaks  the  foamy  brine  of  the  fair 
Pacific,  which  sings  upon  the  golden  shores  through  days  and 
swooning,  balmy  nights  of  an  eternal  summer. 

I  see  a  land  where  are  fruits  and  flowers,  luscious,  fragrant,  and 
sweet  as  Eden's  best,  a  land  where  the  sun  loves  to  linger,  and 
where  the  warm,  rich  glow  steals  into  the  heart,  making  existence 
—  here  where  the  winds  chant  melodies  glorious  and  grand  — 

"  Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live, 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give." 

The  winds  touch  my  brow  softly,  like  a  benediction,  blessing  the 
wanderer,  and  while  the  head  and  knees  are  bent  the  heart  sends 
forth  a  voiceless  prayer  of  thanks,  for  California  the  beautiful  is 
mine  once  more. 


RETROSPECTION. 

My  wanderings  are  ended.  For  nearly  a  year  and  a  half  I 
traveled,  a  stranger  in  strange  lands.  There  were  pains  and  dep- 
rivations which  are  already  slipping  away  from  my  mind,  for 
the  satisfaction  derived  from  visiting  foreign  countries  more  than 
compensates  for  all  inconveniences  endured. 

In  travel  there  is  much  learning,  as  the  world  in  which  we 
move  gives  us  scant  time  for  living  the  lives  nearly  all  of  us  de- 
sire. Environs  fret  and  disturb  us.  The  joy  of  being  able  for  a 
time  to  change  the  routine,  and  let  life  break  out  in  ripples  pleas- 
ing, helpful,  and  healthful  before  the  dull  quiet  of  age  or  death 
claims  us,  is  worth  a  great  deal  to  any  one.  Many  at  times  when 
not  in  harmony  with  their  environments  have  felt  the  sense,  at 
least,  of  the  following:  — 

"  O  God,  I  'd  rather  be 

A  pagan,  cradled  in  a  creed  outworn, 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 

Have  glimpses  of  that  which  would  make  me  less  forlorn, 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  coming  from  the  sea, 

Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  liis  many- wreathed  horn." 


Retrospection.  267 

Often  my  heart  hungered  for  home  and  familiar  scenes  —  for 
rememliered  mountain  retreats,  where  tessellated  shadows  of  vines 
lay  upon  the  ground,  and  the  pine  boughs  sighed  in  the  breeze, 
and  for  the  valleys  where  wandering  winds  caught  the  faint 
sweetness  from  the  tremulous,  fluttering  fields  of  mustard  blooms. 
The  beauty  and  sweetness,  the  fragrance,  of  thousands  of  wild 
flowers,  accentuated  by  the  odors  from  the  magnolia,  lemon,  and 
orange  groves,  and  the  great  fields  of  alfalfa,  where  the  bees  stag- 
gered with  their  delicious  cargoes  of  hone}^  until,  drunken  with 
delight,  they  hummed  themselves  to  sleep  amid  the  waxy  blossoms 
of  the  loquat  trees.  The  leagues  and  leagues  of  poppies  that 
paved  the  plains  with  gold  until  they  were  spilt  into  the  Pacific's 
laughing  waves.  All  these  came  to  me  when  far  away  like  faint 
sweet  music  —  an  echo  —  a  breath  from  paradise,  and  were  over- 
whelming and  overpowering. 

There  were  moments  when  I  wondered  if  it  was  worth  the  time 
and  trouble  wandering  alone  among  strangers,  but  the  satisfaction 
that  was  mine  when  the  home-hurts  died  away  made  me  brave. 

The  marvels  that  greeted  me,  the  picturesque  beauty  of  strange 
lands,  the  memory  of  moon-tranced  nights  and  sunlit  days,  the 
matchless  Mediterranean,  the  ^Egean  seas  and  Grecian  isles; 
Egypt,  and  the  sad,  softened,  reverences  of  sacred  spots  in  Jeru- 
salem and  the  Holy  Land,  will  ever  be  glowing  lamps  in  mem- 
ory's chambers. 

Scenes  come  to  me  from  the  far  Norseland;  I  see  the  glaciers, 
torrents,  and  snow-fields,  where  herds  of  reindeer  are  silhouetted 
against  the  shining  peaks.  A  vision  of  lonely,  cringing  wolves 
gliding  like  evil  spirits  over  the  Russian  steppes,  and  the  wail  of 
the  jackal  comes  to  me  from  the  Judean  Hills,  weird  and  fear- 
some, as  I  heard  it  in  the  gloom  of  night  as  we  slowly  toiled 
along  the  road  to  Jericho.  The  ripple  of  the  river  Jordan  losing 
itself  in  that  sea  whose  waters  are  symbolical  of  death. 

I  revel  in  the  pastoral  beauties  of  England  and  Ireland,  and 
hear  the  bagpipes  in  the  Trosachs,  or  nod  in  mind  with  the 
storks  in  quaint  old  Holland.  The  incomparable  beauty  of  the 
fiords,  the  sublime  mountains,  and  faint,  thrilling  music  of  the 
Alpine  horns  come  to  me  like  visions  not  altogether  of  the  earth, 
that  touch  my  heart,  and  are  sweet  in  the  recalling. 

In  no  country  visited  was  I  disappointed.     Humble,  common- 


268  A  Woman's  \\'andp:rings. 

place,  or  sublime,  there  was  charming  variety  everywhere.  Then 
there  was  the  joy  of  freedom  from  cares  and  exactions  of  society's 
rules.  Simply  doing  what  pleased  me,  going  whither  I  desired, 
asking  nothing,  expecting  nothing,  except  seeing  and  enjoying. 

I  have  stood  in  temples  which  date  back  to  a  past  so  remote 
that  the  mind  fails  to  grasp,  with  feelings  which  could  not  be 
analyzed;  have  mused  on  the  l)anks  of  tliat  mysterious,  old 
river  Nile,  where  the  baby  Moses  was  found  in  the  rushes; 
thinking  of  the  boy,  then  the  man  who  led  the  Israelites  in  their 
wanderings  for  forty  years.  I  dream  of  the  Rameses,  the  plagues, 
Pharaoh,  and  the  Red  Sea.  I  call  up  scene  after  scene,  and 
images  come  to  me.  Again  I  stand  in  the  presence  of  the 
Sphinx,  and  see  — 

"  Where  the  afternoon's  opaline  tremors 
O'er  the  quivering  mountains  play." 

My  pictures  are  animated,  rich,  solemn,  grand,  and  gorgeous; 
they  are  quiet,  too,  and  restful,  and  framed  for  me  alone;  some 
faint  and  shadowy,  others  stand  out  in  bold  relief. 

Of  all  the  mind  loves  most  to  linger  on  that  is  sweet  with  the 
recalling,  none  are  dearer  than  pictures  of  Venice.  I  lean  from 
my  windows  upon  the  Riva  and  see  the  long  black  gondolas  with 
odd-shaped  prows  reared  above  the  placid  waters,  skimming 
swan-like  across  the  Grand  Canal.  I  dream  hours  away  in  those 
same  boats,  out  on  the  lagoons,  or  peer  curiously  at  palaces, 
weather-stained,  blotched,  and  broken  with  damp  and  mold,  as 
we  glide  around  corners  and  through  narrow  canals,  or  out  on  the 
sea,  quivering  and  sparkling  with  an  infinite  variety  of  shades. 
Strange  mystery  of  waters!  There  is  a  fascination  that  appeals, 
that  endears,  one  to  Venice  that  is  inexplicable,  unaccountable; 
one  loves  the  place  without  knowing  why.  Again  the  vision  of 
San  Giorgio  Maggiore  gleams  like  a  lovely  pink  cameo  in  its  set- 
ting of  pale  green  waters,  subdued  and  softened  in  the  tender 
mixture  of  colors  which  makes  the  old  city  charming.  Pale 
pinks  and  greens  mistily  blended  enwrap  the  old  buildings  in  a 
shimmer  of  haze  that  covers  with  a  fairy-like  veil  places  that 
otherwise  might  seem  obstrusive  or  harsh.  It  is  the  gray  bloom 
of  age  tinged  with  a  suspicion  of  rose — a  little  warmth  infused 
into  the  lethargy  that  has  possession  of  this  sleepy,  drowsy  old 
Queen    of   the  Adriatic  —  that    takes    control    of   most,  I  fancy, 


Retrospection. 


209 


who  have  vit^ited  Venice;  a  tJomething  which  has  enthralled  me, 
sweet  in  the  recalling,  like  the  faint  far-off  ctlu)  of  bird-notes 
coming  soft  and  tender  from  unseen  places,  or  a  ciiance  wind 
that  brings  a  perfume  which  calls  up  days  spent  in  a  tangle  of 
bloom,  but  whose  hours  are  fixed  in  the  heart  like  unchanging 
stars,  and  are  like  sunbeams  tangled  in  a  mist  of  rain  clouds. 
And,  too>  are  sweet  as  God's  own  harmony  from  out  the  fragrant 
woods,  that  comes  from  the  whispering  winds  and  murmuring 
waters,  that  is  known  and  felt  in  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of  the 
immense  Sea  of  Thought,  making  it  restful,  soothing,  and  helpful. 
So  do  memories  of  places  come  back,  for  in  spirit  I  shall  ever 


iBKAHEM,    MY    DRAGOMAN*. 


270  A  Woman's  Wanderings. 

revisit  lands  my  eager,  willing  feet  once  trod.  Surely  it  is  worth 
something  to  have  wandered  in  lands  where  the  world's  greatest 
have  lived  and  left  their  traces.  The  sound,  ripe  fruit  of  con- 
tentment is  mine- — for  traveling  has  ever  been  more  than  any- 
thing else  —  a  passion  so  great  that  it  seems  to  me  life  l)eyond 
the  grave  will  not  be  full  or  complete  unless  it  be  that  Eternity 
means  wandering  from  one  fair  world  to  another.  Yet  hopeful 
and  trustful  that  all  will  be  well,  I  say  reverently,  with  the  poor 
Arab,  ""God  is  good;  he  understands." 


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Care  and  Culture  of  Men 


Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan 
(President  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University) 
A  series  of  addresses  on  Higher  Education,  delivered  at  dif- 
ferent times  before  assemblies  of  teachers  and  students.  A  book 
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"This  is  a  book  that  should  be  read  by  every  parent  and  every  young 
man  and  yeoman."— Current  Literature. 

The  Story  of  the  Innumerable  Company 

AND     OTHER    SKETCHES 
By  David  Starr  Jordan 
This  volume  is  made  up  of  separate  sketches,  historical  or 
allegorical,  having  in  some  degree  a  bond  of  union  in  the  idea 
of  the  "higher  sacrifice." 

Contents— The  Story  of  the  Innumerable  Company-lhe 
Story  of  the  Cross-The  California  of  the  P^dre-The  Conquest 
of  Jupiter  Pen- The  Last  of  the  Puritans-A  Knight  o  the 
Order  of  Poets— The  Higher  Sacrifice-The  Bubbles  of  Saki. 

Richly  and  fully  illustrated  with  19  full-page  views- 
many  of  which  are  very  rare. 

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orating hfthoughtfulness  and  practical  wisdom  o  such  essays  as  'Nature 
Studv  and  Mo?af  Culture,-  'The'^Higher  Sacrifice,'  -  etc.- Argonaut. 


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Complete  Poetical  Works 

(  IN  ONE  VOLUME  ) 

C.  H«  Miller  (Joaquin),  The  Poet  of  the  Sierras 
This  volume  completes  the  life  work  of  this  "Sweet  Singer 
by  the  Sunset  Sea."  In  it  are  included  all  of  the  best  poems 
formerly  published  under  the  following  titles  :  "Songs  of  the 
Sierras" — "Songs  of  Sunland" — "Songs  of  Summerlands" — 
"Songs  of  Italy" — "Songs  of  the  Mexican  Seas" — "Classic  Shades" 

—  "Songs  of  the  Soul" — "Olive  Leaves" — "Joaquin,"  et  al.,  etc. 
The  book  contains  330  pages  of  double-column  matter,  printed 
from  new  type  on  laid  paper.  Each  of  the  longer  poems  is  fol- 
lowed by  extensive  foot  notes  written  by  the  poet  himself,  also 
a  most  interesting,  reminiscent  preface  and  appendix  narrating 
incidents  and  scenes  in  his  eventful  life,  never  published  before. 
It  has  several  illustrations  showing  the  poet  at  different  ages, 
also  a  beautiful  scene  from  his  present  home  on  "The  Hights." 
Beautifully  bound  in  silk  cloth,  side  and  back  stamp  in  gilt,  gilt 

top.  Price,  $2.50 

Qilt  Edition,  bound  in  three=quarter  Levant.  -  -  Price,  4.50 
Limited  Autograph  Edition,  bound  in  full  Morocco.  Price,     7.50 

Some  Homely  Little  Songs 

Alfred  James  Waterhouse 
(Of  the  Editorial  Staff  "S.  F.  Examiner") 
Mr.  Waterhouse  frequently  has  been  termed  "the  poet  of 
the  heart."  The  charm  of  absolute  simplicity,  combined  with 
much  tenderness,  characterizes  all  of  his  work.  There  is,  too,  a 
rich  vein  of  humor  in  many  of  his  verses,  and  it  often  displays 
itself  when  least  expected.  His  songs  of  childhood  are  particu- 
larly felicitous.  This  volume  contains  about  ninety  of  his  best 
poetical  productions,  many  of  which  have  been  published  and 
republished  by  both  Western  and  Eastern  journals.  Printed  on 
heavy  laid  paper  and  bound  in  fine  silk  cloth,  gilt  side  and  back 
stamp,  gilt  top,  176  pages.  Price,  $1.25 

"He  has  command  of  the  same  homely  pathos  and  humor  which  have 
made  James  Whitcomb  Riley  so  popular  *  *  It  will  appeal  to  hundreds 
of  readers  because  it  is  full  of  genuine  human  nature." — N.  F.  Chronicle.   '\ 

"Waterhouse  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  American  minor  poets.  His 
poetry  is  from  the  heart.  He  is  a  true  poet ;  a  poet  of  the  hearthstone ; 
a  poet  of  the  affections  *    *    *  The  volume  is  brimming  over  with  gems." 

—  Sacramento  Bee. 


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Readings  from  California  Poets 

(COMPILATION) 

Edmund   Russell 
(No.  J  Western  Literature  Series) 
This  choice  and  carefully    selected  collection  contains  the 
very  best  work  that,  has  been  done  by  our  Western  poets.     Per- 
haps no  other  State  in  the  Union  can  show  more  original  literary 
and  dramatic  power  than    is  displayed   by  our  writers   living 
under  the  influence  of  the  majestic  Sierras  and  inspired  by  the 
grandeur   of   the  unsurpassable  redwood  forests.     Here  is  pre- 
sented for  the  first  time,  in  a  form  for  school  use,  the  choicest 
writings  of  the  West.     Nothing  is  better  adapted  to  supplement 
the  study  of  literature  than  this  collection  of  124  pages. 
Bound  in  Paper. Price,  25  Cents 

Western  Series  of  Booklets 

A  series  of  articles,  essays,  poems,  etc.,  by  some  of  our  very 
best  Western  writers.  Bound  in  uniform  illuminated  paper  bind- 
ing, tied  with  silk  cord.  Very  artistic.  Price,  each  number,  25  Cts. 
No.  1.  California  and  the  Californians,  By  David  Stake  Jordan 
No.  2.  Love  and  Law,  -  -  -  By  Thos.  P.  Bailey,  Jr. 
No.  3.  The  Man  Who  Might  Have  Been,      -         -         -         . 

By  Rev.  Robt.  Whitaker 
No.  4.  Chants  for  the  Boer,  -  -  -  By  Joaquin  Miller 
No.  5.  Toil  (verses),         -         -         By  Daniel  Florence  Leary 

Songs  from  Puget  Sea 

Herbert  Bashford 
(State  Librarian   of  Washington) 

A  dainty  little  volume,  containing  some  seventy  selected 
short  poems  from  the  pen  of  this  popular  writer.  Printed  on 
heavy  laid  paper,  uncut  edges.  Bound  in  white  vellum,  with 
artistic  gilt  design  on  front  cover.  Price,  $1.00 

"Mr.  Bashford  has  made  his  name  known  as  a  poet  far  and  wide  dur- 
ing the  past  few  years.  'Songs  from  Puget  Sea'  is  a  notable  collection  of 
verse.  *  *  *  It  is  a  welcome  addition  to  our  Pacific  Coast  lyrical 
library." — S.  F.  Examiner. 


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■SI  PUBLICATIONS  OF 

^     The  Whitaker  &  Ray  Company 

^  "^      *T^       •'TSt      B^t      wTs.      »>T^«    "^       •''1%       •"T^*       fc-TN*       *>'TSi       •TSi       •IN*       •''TSt      •IS.     '  •p.      fc-Ts.       w-TS.      •]%       fc-Ts.      •-TS.      •f^a 

About  Dante  and  His  Beloved  Florence 

By  Mrs.  Frances  Sanborn 

This  book  is  written  for  English  readers  and  students  of  The  Divine 
Comedy  from  the  standpoint  ot  a  lover  of  Dante.  It  does  not  assume 
independent  translations  of  "The  Immortal  Poem,"  but  draws  from  the 
highest  authorities,  and  gives  a  rich  collection  of  the  estimates  of  distin- 
guished poets,  commentators  and  essayists.  It  must  serve  a  purpose  of 
introducing  the  Great  Poet  to  young  readers,  and  of  inspiring  a  closer  sym- 
patti}'  with  those  students  who  have  already  begun  to  know  him. 

The  work  opens  with  an  "Introduction,"  which  fully  explains  the 
purpose  of  the  writer.  Part  First  is  about  Florence,  the  home  of  Dante, 
where  the  author  wrote  much  of  her  book.  Part  Two  treats  of  what  Dante 
named  his  "New  Life." 

Then  The  Divine  Comedy,  with  its  three  grand  majestic  stages  of 
Dante's  journey,  comes  in  review,  and  the  last  chapters  give  incidents  of 
the  intense  and  growing  interest  for  everything  Dantean  in  his  own 
"Beloved  Florence"  (as  he  called  it)  and  tliroughout  the  wide  world. 

Bound  in  Cloth. Price,  $1.00 


Missions  of  Nueva  California 

C.  F.  Carter 

In  the  "Missions  of  Nueva  California,"  the  author  is  thoroughly  in 
sympathy  with  his  subject.  One  marvels,  on  casually  glancing  over  its 
pages,  at  the  mass  of  information  packed  in  the  volume,  and  on  deeper 
reading  the  laborious  research  of  the  author,  evident  everywhere,  shows 
that  his  has  been  a  labor  of  love.  The  romance  of  the  Missions  is  inter- 
estingly and  absorbingly  interwoven  with  the  matter-of-fact.  Every  his- 
torical event  connected  with  the  early  history  of  California  radiates  from 
the  Missions,  and  in  this  volume  that  historv  is  given  in  a  nutshell.  The 
motives  of  Spain  in  the  settlement  of  Nueva  California;  the  struggles  of 
the  Padres,  leading  up  to  the  liigh  tide  of  prosperity  of  the  Missions  ;  the 
Indians, — their  moral,  mental,  and  physical  condition  from  their  first  con- 
tact with  the  Padres ;  the  Mexican  in  California, — his  social  and  political 
status,  his  thriftlessness  and  picturesqueness,  his  pastimes,  follies,  virtues, 
and  vices ;  the  Missions  themselves, — how  the  author  loves  to  dwell  on 
the  minutest  detail  connected  with  them ;  the  Mission  buildings, — there 
is  not  a  tile  or  lintel  connected  with  them  that  is  not  sacred  to  him,  and 
the  proximity  of  commercialism  to  their  ruins  is  to  him  like  the  "abomi- 
nation of  desolation"  to  the  Jew.  For  an  appreciation  of  the  work  of  the 
Mission  Padres,  for  infinite  detail  connected  with  the  Missions  as  they 
were  in  their  prime,  down  to  the  condition  of  their  decaying  ruins  to-day, 
no  work  hitherto  published  equals  the  "Missions  of  Nueva  California." 
Bound  in  Cloth. Price,  $1.50 


RARK  BOOK 
COLLKCTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


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